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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038694">The Long Road</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu'>Chifuyu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Tags May Change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:15:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>78,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux is not dead. </p><p>Which is only the case because he's not stupid either. The only thing he can do now is attempt to flee the Steadfast in one piece to get as far away from the crumbling First Order and Kylo Ren as possible if only to plan his glorious resurgence.</p><p>What he doesn't know: He's not the only one to survive a deadly wound. Light-years away, on the planet Exegol, Kylo Ren returns to the land of the living without ever knowing how or why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kylux Positivity Week 2.0</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Surviving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/gifts">storytellingape</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It seems my thing is to write one long fic after every SW that is coming out and then never write a proper fic ever again for the next two years. Here's my humble attempt at making sense of TROS and write a Fix-It fic of sorts.</p><p>It's going to be long and it's going to be Slow Burn. I mean it. Kylux don't even meet until 50k words into the fic. So buckle up, you're going to be here for a long while.</p><p>A special thank you goes out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> and @Miasmatik_Art on twitter for reading over the first chapter of this fic and providing invaluable feedback!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I. Surviving</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's not dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s not dead because he's not stupid either. It was merely a matter of time before Pryde grew tired of his continued existence—detested bastard son of his friend Brendol that he is—and took matters into his own hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, Hux didn’t expect those steps to be quite so drastic; Enric Pryde wasn't usually the type to get his own hands dirty. He liked to watch when Brendol made Hux lick Bark tea off the floor and offered suggestions on where to hit him next to maximize the pain, to teach him a proper lesson that would stick. On one memorable occasion he even lent  Hux’s father—whose palms had become sore during another beating—his ridiculous baton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So even with the blaster-reflective vest underneath his fitted uniform, it still hurts; the sudden impact of the bolt punching the air right out of him and sending him flying halfway across the bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his ears ringing and his hips aching, Hux almost misses Pryde's clipped command informing the Supreme Leader that the mole in their midst has been found and swiftly eliminated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's petty, but as he’s lying there in a crumpled heap on the floor, careful not to breathe too deeply in fear that the officers and troopers on deck might realise he's not quite as dead as Pryde wishes he'd be, Hux can't help but be offended on his own behalf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's a general of the First Order, the youngest to have ever been appointed to that position. He’s the father of Starkiller Base, destroyer of worlds, a revolutionary and prodigy. The least he would have expected was a proper execution and a trial preceding it. That would have given him more time. Time to come up with a proper plan of escape. Time for more preparations. Perhaps even enough time to rally those still loyal to their General around him. Mitaka comes to mind, Unamo as well. They could have proven useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pointless now, to mull over the many what-ifs and could-haves. When strong arms lift his </span>
  <em>
    <span>allegedly</span>
  </em>
  <span> lifeless body from the ground to drag him off the bridge, Hux steels his resolve, holds his breath and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luck has not entirely abandoned him. The troopers tasked with getting rid of his body have very obviously more respect for a former general than Pryde, traitor or not. They don't just chuck him into the incinerator and call it a day. Instead, their way leads them to the morgue, where only the bodies of high-ranking officers and those awarded the greatest honours for their sacrifice to the Order were held—until Hux used their deaths in a rousing speech meant to lift the spirits of their peers, laying their bodies out like the war heroes of old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost gasps when he’s lifted up and slammed onto one of the uncomfortable stretchers that line the walls of the mortuary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's difficult, holding up the illusion of lifelessness when he's moved around like a ragdoll, like a thing, with no regard to the wound on his thigh. It has opened up again and Hux can feel the blood seeping through the fine fabric of his jodhpurs, sticking to his skin like glue. He endures the pain and the indignity as best he can, until the hands on his hips and thighs and arms are gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell is going on here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux knows that voice: Chief Medical Officer Tacit Adea, one of many who volunteered to be transferred when it became obvious that the Finalizer would no longer be the First Order’s flagship. He’s a robust man with a body type more commonly found in Purge Troopers than in doctors, but undoubtedly competent and an expert in his chosen field. It was him who had prepared Phasma's body for her funeral all those months ago. A special privilege, as he was allowed to see her face and live. Back then, he had simply shrugged at the sight of her cold eyes and platinum hair. The chrome armor was more impressive, he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A traitor," one of the stormtroopers says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their voice is distorted by the vocoder built into their helmet but Hux can discern genuine confusion. They're not convinced then, that General Armitage Hux, child of the First Order, would betray them all so willingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're not wrong. Even now, with all his dignity stripped off him, Hux considers himself a loyal servant of the Order. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the First Order, no matter what Pryde says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ren though, Ren is not. He doesn't care about any of it. About the chaos in the galaxy, the suffering, the corruption brought to it by the New Republic. He's not the First Order and yet he calls himself Supreme Leader, using Hux's precious creation for his own questionable purposes: to chase a shadow, wasting their resources without a second thought in his selfish pursuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A traitor?" Adea echoes and there's a small pause, presumably because he's staring at Hux's body, maybe with one bushy eyebrow raised in disbelief. "General Hux?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We don't know either, sir," the second stormtrooper says, a hint of impatience creeping into their words. They're on edge, rattled by the events that have led to this, Hux can tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what am I supposed to do with him now?" Adea asks, ignoring the troopers' discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a soft rustle, the distinct sound of plastoid plates rubbing against each other. One of the stormtroopers must have shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Put him on ice?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Hux hears is the unmistakable sound of footsteps, the slide of an automatic door and then, silence. The troopers have left, leaving him at the mercy of the medical officer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pah," Adea grunts and for two frantic heartbeats, Hux fears that the man has seen through his little charade and is about to call him out on it. "Bantha crap."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the good doctor is merely talking to himself, muttering curses under his breath as he moves around the morgue, unsure what to do with the corpse of a general that has been put in his care so unexpectedly. Well, he's not going to have to think too long or too hard about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux isn't entirely sure if they're alone. By all means, there should be other staff here, at least an assistant and a diener, but Hux hears nothing that would indicate Adea has any company. Of course he can never be sure, but as much as Hux dislikes such uncertainties, he can't afford to hesitate or wait in hopes for a better chance to present itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Careful not to draw Adea’s attention, Hux searches for the control stud in his sleeve; the one that activates the monomolecular blade hidden there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He harbours no ill feelings for the medical officer. On the contrary, it's a shame he'll lose such a competent member of his staff, but his own survival takes precedence. He opens one eye, finger on the control stud, and comes face to face with Adea who’s looking down at him with exasperated amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not so dead after all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux’s breath catches in his throat, the sound overly loud in the sterile silence, and stares with unconcealed horror at Adea. He could try and slit Adea’s throat. He's injured, yes, but he has the element of surprise on his side. Adea doesn't know about Hux’s hidden weapon and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean no disrespect, General, but trying to kill me with that leg wound is not advisable, not to mention utterly unnecessary."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux freezes, eyes widening in shock before quickly narrowing in unconcealed suspicion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Haven't you heard?" he asks with empty confidence. "I'm a traitor."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that so?" Adea muses, scratching at the stubble on the underside of his chin, as if Hux's status as a traitor isn’t an indisputable fact but merely a vague possibility still up for debate. "Well, I'm not going to argue with the man hiding a dagger in his sleeve. How's the chest?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux doesn't answer, too baffled by the question and Adea’s nonchalance to form a coherent reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like your average blaster wound," Adea says, adjusting his glasses as he takes in the still smoking hole in Hux's uniform. "Lucky thing you got that vest on underneath. Still, got a few bruised ribs, I guess? Perhaps even a couple that are broken. And that leg wound? Nasty. I could redress it? If you want me to?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux doesn't take his finger off the dagger's clasps but he goes so far as to sit up and return Adea’s inquiring stare with as much dignity as he can muster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why would you?" he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because you've got a dagger under that sleeve of yours and I'd prefer if you didn't stab me in the eye with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn't make sense. Hux is injured, almost immobile, and he's lost the advantage of surprise. All Adea needed to do was to send out an alarm via commlink and, within seconds, these rooms would be overflowing with stormtroopers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's no possible explanation as to why he would try and strike a bargain with Hux or offer his help. They both know it’s Adea who has the high ground and yet...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aiding an alleged traitor would make you a traitor as well," Hux points out, never once breaking eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And who's gonna tell Supreme Leader Ren? You, General?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ridiculous. Ren is, after all, the sole reason Hux has found himself in this unfortunate situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps not, but that doesn't explain why you'd offer your help so willingly. Surely, there's more to be gained from my capture than from my escape."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea frowns, then shrugs and turns away to search for something in one of the plastisteel cabinets. If he had the energy left, Hux would've been insulted by how little Adea seemed to fear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mumbling incoherent nonsense under his breath, Adea rummages around for some time until he finds what he's been looking for and returns to Hux with a triumphant grin parting his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bacta," he explains and drops at least a dozen of the warm patches into Hux's lap. "There, that should last you for a while. Now show me that leg of yours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux silently endures it when Adea strips him off his jodhpurs, cleans the bleeding wound, applies a bacta patch and redresses it with a fresh bandage. For one short-lived moment, he's tempted to use his monomolecular blade when Adea is bent over him, inspecting the frayed edges of the wound where the blaster has burned the flesh. In the end, he refrains, held back by an unpleasant feeling in his stomach that he can't quite place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There, all done." Adea straightens up and brushes imaginary dust off his hands as he regards the pristine white of the dressing around Hux's thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux doesn't offer his thanks, puzzled still by Adea’s inexplicable behaviour. Instead, he pulls up his jodhpurs, redressing as quickly as his aching body would allow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't answer my question," Hux points out as he's zipping up his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea doesn't deny it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," he agrees, to Hux's never-ending surprise. "But maybe you should worry more about how to get out of here than why a medical officer like me would help you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea pauses, momentarily distracted by an incoming message on his commlink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, you're lucky. A direct order from Allegiant General Pryde. Your body is to be discarded immediately, no delays."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic settles in Hux's belly. Disregarding the pain in his leg, he jumps off the stretcher and activates his monomolecular blade. He's not going down without a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Adea doesn't move, doesn't call in support or raise the alarm. All he does is regard Hux with thinly veiled amusement and almost fond exasperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're misunderstanding, General. Cremation is the most effective method to discard a body. And ashes are ashes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, understanding dawns on Hux and he stares at the officer with his mouth hanging open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As far as I'm concerned," Adea continues when no intelligent reply from Hux is forthcoming, "your remains have been cremated as is protocol and I've done my job. So if you could please leave now. I really don't feel like explaining why I have a very much alive General Hux standing in the middle of my mortuary when he's supposed to be no more than a dust pile."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A ship," Hux croaks, his own voice echoing in his ears, as if it's coming from far away. "I need a ship."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And a disguise,"  Adea agrees. “I think I have stormtrooper armor lying around somewhere. Poor guy unexpectedly bit the dust last week. We had his body brought in here and examined. He didn’t report it. Turned out to be the Rylothian disease. Rather unpleasant and in this case fatal. That's what you get for not using protection. Anyway, the cleaning droids haven't picked up his armor for recycling yet. It should fit you just fine, General."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux listens to Adea’s ramblings with mounting disgust, but given the circumstances he's not the kind to be so foolish and look a gift fathier in the mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, the nagging question at the back of his mind remains: Why is Adea doing this? Risking his position, his life even, to help him escape?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't get another chance to ask. Adea proves that he would have made a fine soldier by lifting the aforementioned armor out of a carbonite crate with remarkable ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's one of the improved models; more flexibility," Adea explains while Hux struggles to get into the black bodysuit, a task made unnecessarily difficult by his injured leg and chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm well aware of the properties of the First Order's stormtrooper armor. I helped design it," he huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea gives him a look, one eyebrow raised, but says nothing. A silent reminder that, perhaps, this isn’t the best time to get cheeky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux shuts his mouth with a resounding snap. He's no longer a general, he reminds himself. He's a traitor, plain and simple, and the only thing standing between him and a painful death is Adea's misguided compassion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stormtrooper armor may be a modified model but it's still uncomfortably restricting. Breathing out, Hux can feel the trapped condensate, turning the inside of the helmet into a convincing imitation of Kashyyyk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The breathing filters aren't working properly," he points out, carefully moving arms and legs to assess his new and rather limited range of motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beggars can't be choosers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with the helmet obscuring part of his vision, Hux can see the exasperated eye-roll Adea doesn't bother to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Besides, you're not supposed to wear this into battle. You're just supposed to make it off this ship."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea has a point, loathe as Hux is to admit it. Nevertheless, he would have preferred an armor with working air filters and ventilation. Already, he’s sweating, his skin beneath the ill-fitting bodysuit uncomfortably damp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I take it you're familiar with the layout of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steadfast</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Adea asks, ignoring Hux's plain-to-see discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not as familiar as I should be," Hux admits after a too-long silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the six months he has been a General in name only—trailing after Pryde like an obedient pet instead—he has wasted little time to familiarise himself with the Allegiant General's ship. His knowledge only extends so far as was needed to aid the captured Resistance members and help them escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fatal oversight, he realises that now. But back then, refusing to learn anything about the ship that was Pryde's pride and joy seemed like an act of defiance, the only form of protest Hux could allow himself without having to fear painful repercussions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, this lack of knowledge could very well doom him and ruin any chances of escape he might have had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Adea is surprised by his admittance then he doesn't show it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, nothing to be done about it," he laments briefly before grabbing a datapad from a nearby desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you doing?" Hux asks, gripped by a sudden panic. Surely, Adea wouldn't betray him now? Or has Hux exhausted his goodwill already? Has he decided that the gratitude of a disgraced general is not worth the hassle after all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Easy," Adea assures him, no doubt having picked up on the hysterical edge in Hux's voice. "There's a transport scheduled for Lothal, to pick up several orders of medical equipment and bacta canisters. Your regular fetch mission. Low risk, minimal crew. Perfect for your purposes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the visor, Hux's eyes widen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You want me to infiltrate a cargo ship?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You managed to feed the Resistance intel despite Supreme Leader Ren and Allegiant General Pryde breathing down your neck and watching your every step. I think you'll manage just fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only Hux had as much confidence in himself as Adea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They won't allow another crew member on this mission if they haven't been previously authorised," he points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you that, General, it may be protocol but nobody here will look twice if I demand for you to join the mission."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea has the audacity to wink at him. "After all, I want my supplies to arrive on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steadfast </span>
  </em>
  <span>safe and sound. If I decide there needs to be another man on board then that's what they'll do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preposterous, Hux thinks but doesn't say. This isn't how things are supposed to be done in the First Order. Adea is Chief Medical Officer. He has no authority over the transport teams. The logistics of their trade and transport missions aren’t part of his job description.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux is appalled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This isn’t protocol," he mumbles, perplexed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea doesn't pay him any mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come now, General." He turns around, lab coat fluttering behind him as he makes to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux is left with no choice but to follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's nothing short of a miracle when they arrive on the secondary bridge. It's nowhere near as busy as the main bridge, meant to be used as a makeshift command center in the unlikely event that the actual bridge was destroyed. When it becomes obvious that nobody here will spare him or Adea so much as a glance, Hux finds some of the tension in his shoulders draining away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Careful with that leg," Adea whispers as they make their way to one of the hangar bays. "You can't let people know that you're injured."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux grits his teeth and bites back a cutting remark. He'd like to see Adea try and uphold the illusion of military precision with a hole in his thigh. Instead, he straightens up, ignores the flaring pain, and walks faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lothal is under First Order control. They take First Order credits if they must but you should try and get your hands on New Republic credits and ditch the armor. The First Order isn’t exactly popular there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Hux is tempted to remind Adea who he’s talking to; that he's well aware of all First Order territories; that he has helped conquer most of them. He doesn't need to be lectured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clenching his teeth until his jaw hurts, he manages to resist the temptation. It's hardly worth it. Adea is, for reasons still a mystery to him, only trying to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You realise you'll never get your supplies if you insist on doing this? On helping me," he points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea keeps walking, eyes on the standard cargo ship in the hangar bay—Hux's only chance of survival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A small price to pay," he says, not looking at Hux.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To pay for what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea stops walking so suddenly, Hux almost runs into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does it matter? Isn't it enough that I'm willing to risk everything for you? I thought you’d appreciate my undying loyalty a little more."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Underneath the too big helmet, Hux scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This has nothing to do with loyalty. Don’t take me for a fool, Adea."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good." Adea nods and ressumes walking, his wide strides making it difficult for Hux to keep up. He hasn't answered Hux's question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It plays out exactly the way Adea predicted. The small crew tasked with retrieving the ordered supplies is more than happy to welcome him onboard, telling him with alarming carefreeness how those nerf-herders from High Command always understaff them. One of them—he introduces himself as RO-5933, </span>
  <em>
    <span>'But just call me Ro</span>
  </em>
  <span>'—even goes so far as to clap Hux on the back as he walks up the loading ramp. Hux gives a polite nod in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only one expressing concern over a random stormtrooper being suddenly assigned to their mission is the Captain. Hux knows her, or better: he knows of her: Erinna T’los, an imposing woman in her forties. The sleeves of her neatly ironed uniform are straining with the effort to contain her bulging biceps when she crosses her arms and glares at Hux.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that really necessary, Adea?" she asks, never once taking her eyes off Hux. "I didn't expect to have to brief another trooper."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the fact that she's so very close to thwarting Adea's and in extension Hux's plan, he still feels a spark of grudging respect for the captain. She's right to question his sudden appearance and Adea's insistence to have him on board when he technically didn't even possess the authority to willfully modify the crew constellation. Finally! Somebody with some common sense and awareness for protocol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How ironic then, that this is the very last thing Hux needs right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No need for that." Adea waves her off. "Ro can brief him. He's capable enough. Or don't you trust my judgement?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erinna's expression doesn't change, her stoic face unreadable. Then the tension in her shoulders drains away all at once and she heaves a defeated sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine then, have it your way. But this is the last time, I'm doing you a favour. You owe me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judging by the pleased smile playing about Adea's mouth, it's not the first time she said something of the sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignores Adea's smug grin and turns to RO-5223 instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"RO-5223?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nods, picking up so easily on the implications in her tone, Hux suspects the relationship of these two goes beyond their roles as commanding officer and subordinate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll make sure he's up to date."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erinna's expression softens momentarily. "Very good. And you-" She turns to Hux, the illusion of tenderness gone as quickly as it had come, "-you better not make me regret this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not knowing what else to do, Hux salutes clumsily, not having had to do so in years, and stands as tall as his injuries allow, ignoring the biting pain in his leg that intensifies the longer Erinna glares at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last she seems satisfied—though no more pleased for it—and disappears into the shuttle without another word, RO-5223 close on her heels. A heartbeat later, the shuttle comes alive beneath Hux’s feet, the ion drive’s soft vibrations comfortable in their familiarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only one thing left to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux turns, looking at Adea who has yet to leave the hangar bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Hux asks, determined to get an answer to the question that has been nagging him since he woke up in the mortuary with the man bent over his injured body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Adea echoes, a humourless smile playing around his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He combs through his graying hair with his fingers—longer than regulation allows—and sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your father Brendol Hux, he wasn't a good man."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hux frowns, the whirring noise of the hyperdrive and careless chatter of the crew suddenly dulled, reduced to no more than background noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I saw the bruises and the burn marks. I saw the half-dried tears and the blood. And I said nothing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adea swallows thickly, dragging a hand over his exhausted features before going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint either. I’m doing this much more for my than for your sake. Just so I can finally get some peace of mind. I repaid my debt. Farewell."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait--!" Hux calls out but Adea doesn't listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns on his heels, not once looking back and the last Hux sees of him before the cargo hatch closes are his broad shoulders, moving up and down as Adea takes a shuddering breath.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He's alone.</p><p>Not dead. Though, by all accounts, he should be. Not even injured, as far as he can tell. The girl, Rey, healed him. And he healed her. For reasons he can't fathom.</p><p>Why is he still here? He died. He knows he did. His body reunited with the Force, not gone, never truly gone, but no longer of this realm either.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for all you kind sould who took the time to read the first chapter, leave kudos or write comments!</p><p>I hope the second chapter doesn't disappoint either!</p><p>Once more, I want to thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> who went over this chapter as well and made it readable!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <strong>II. Awakening</strong>
</p><p><br/><br/>He's alone.</p><p>Not dead. Though, by all accounts, he should be. Not even injured, as far as he can tell. The girl, Rey, healed him. And he healed her. For reasons he can't fathom.</p><p>Opening his eyes, he finds himself surrounded by impenetrable darkness. He's still on Exegol then. The remnants of the Emperor’s aura lie heavy in the air, like the lingering stench of rotting Nlorna flowers. It’s clouding his senses, leaving him half-blind and disoriented.</p><p>Why is he still here? He died. He knows he did. His body reunited with the Force, not gone, never truly gone, but no longer of this realm either.</p><p>He lifts one arm, reaches out into the darkness and closes his fist around empty air.</p><p>Cold seeps into his skin, spreading from his back to his limbs, until his fingertips are numb with pain. With his sweater torn, drenched with sweat, he suddenly finds himself mourning his lost cape.</p><p>Curiously enough, the loss of his lightsaber—both the one he sacrificed to the raging sea and the one meant to be his birthright—doesn't weigh as heavily on his heart. Kylo Ren is gone and so is his lightsaber. And Ben Solo. He hesitates. Ben Solo is merely a memory of the person he once was and can never be again.</p><p>Lying motionless, he allows his thoughts to drift. The universe has a cruel sense of humour indeed, if it decided to bring him back to the world of the living and thus making his grand sacrifice worth so much less, now that it doesn't end with his heroic death. </p><p>He huffs a broken laugh and reaches out with the Force, searching for something, anything that would ignite a spark of recognition in him. The Force is alight with the dying screams of thousands. The First Order, the Resistance, nameless scoundrels drawn into the fight and brought to their end by their own convoluted sense of morality. There are too many;  too many souls crying out in agony, to make sense of them. It only takes one heartbeat until his mind is close to breaking.</p><p>He cuts the connection with a pained groan and rolls onto his side, to press his face into the numbing wetness of the dusty floor.</p><p>Silence settles in his mind once more, still troubling in its foreignness. The many voices in his head, they're gone. Not only those of the dying. All the voices. Snoke. Palpatine. His father. His mother. He's alone. He’s free. And yet the relief he expected to come with this freedom doesn’t materialise.</p><p>Instead, all he feels is desperation and a mounting panic that he finds himself unprepared for. And now that he has everything he ever wanted: to be his own master, freed from those who claimed to love him but only saw a monster or a tool, and all he feels is terror.</p><p>He's not injured but when he tries to stand his arms are shaking, too weak to hold his weight. He nearly crashes back to the ground before he can catch himself.</p><p>He's lost. Perhaps more so than ever before. He has nowhere to go, no place where he'd be welcome. He's without a weapon, without a legacy, without a name. For the first time in his life, he's a nobody. He's nothing.</p><p>Balling his hands into fists until his short nails dig into the skin and leave crescent-shaped marks, he takes one hesitant step forward.</p><p>He doesn't know where he's going. </p><p>It’s just as well. </p><p>He walks aimlessly, past debris and bent durasteel, past the mechanical innards of Palpatine’s lair, laid bare by the merciful passage of time, past the dead clones swimming in glowing bacta. </p><p>Some of these abominations are fully developed, their gnarled faces seemingly judging him even in death. Others are no more than grotesque fetuses, more terrifying in their incompleteness than their fully grown counterparts.</p><p>He crushes them with a careless wave of his hand, grim satisfaction warming the blood surging through his veins at the sound of splintering transparisteel and cracking bones.</p><p>The satisfaction doesn’t last. Even after wandering aimlessly through for what feels like hours (Or were it only minutes? It’s impossible to tell) his eyes have barely adjusted to the darkness around him. All he’s able to make out is a faint glimmer in the distance. </p><p>He follows it in lieu of a better plan.</p><p>It's an annoying thing, flickering into nothingness and reappearing on the edges of his perception whenever he thinks he's getting closer.</p><p>Growling, he readjusts his course when it goes out only to flare up again several feet away from its initial position.</p><p>"Enough!" he shouts at last, not one to be taken for a fool.</p><p>The light grows weaker, as if intimidated by his booming voice, before growing so bright, he has to shield his eyes or risk being blinded.</p><p>White stars are dancing in his vision when he dares open his eyes, more numerous than those of the night sky, and surrounded by them, stands a droid no bigger than a loth-cat.</p><p>He knows the type. A BD unit, ancient judging from the way it looks but still nimble on its feet and equipped with a spotlight that's shining directly into his eyes, nearly blinding him.</p><p>"A droid..." he mutters, sorely tempted to crush the measly thing beneath his boots.</p><p>The droid in question beeps in greeting, unaware of the imminent danger he poses, and rattles off it's model number and purpose in binary before scanning him with its biometric scanner.</p><p>"Human, yes," he affirms at another beeped inquiry.</p><p>It reminds him of another droid, the one that held within its memory core the coordinates to Luke Skywalker's hideout. Equally upbeat. Equally annoying. Though perhaps not quite as useless.</p><p>"The exit, you must know where it's located," he says. The droid gives what he assumes is a confirming nod. "Show me."</p><p>The droid doesn't waste any more of his time, though when it jumps on his back and climbs its way up until it sits comfortably on his shoulder, he nearly tears the thing apart with the Force.</p><p>Patience, he reminds himself, painfully aware of the irony of it all. He can destroy the irritating bundle of metal and wires once it has led him through these labyrinthian ruins.</p><p>So he endures the indignity of being reduced to a bantha mount by an exploration droid and straightens up.</p><p>"Where to?" he asks the BD-unit.</p><p>His answer is a short beep, followed by a buzzing sound. Before he can ask a second time, a holomap materialises in front of him.</p><p>It's a map of the planet, he realises with some wonder. Though it’s incomplete, parts of it have yet to be discovered. How long has this droid been here, quietly charting these halls? And to what purpose?</p><p>With an impatient huff, he pushes these questions to the back of his mind. What does it matter? The concerns of some measly droid are of no relevance to him.</p><p>"The exit," he demands.</p><p>A red dot appears on the map, blinking in regular intervals, telling him everything he needs to know.<br/><br/></p><p>***<br/><br/></p><p>Their journey is an uneventful one, interrupted only by the droids occasional beeps, asking questions he's unwilling to answer. Mostly, it asks for a name.</p><p>"Be quiet," he snaps, just as he feels it.</p><p>A living presence in the Force. Weak, pathetic almost, but sentient.</p><p>He balls his hands into fists, ready to kill whoever dares defile this sacred place with its presence.</p><p>The BD droid—he should have destroyed it when he had the chance—gives an excited beep and jumps off his shoulder, making off with impressive speed. He’s left with no other choice but to follow.</p><p>Wretched little thing.</p><p>What he sees when he turns the corner isn’t what he had expected. It's not the cowardly agents of the New Republic who have come to end his existence for good. Not the Resistance either.</p><p>It's a child.</p><p>A child, no older than thirteen, dressed in what appears to be a repurposed shock cloth with holes cut into the fabric to make room for the head and arms. The whole assembly is held together by a piece of rope, acting as a belt. A sorry sight indeed, made worse by the streaks of dirt and grease adorning the child’s haggard face. Their lips are chapped, the tips of their matted hair split. </p><p>Though more interesting than their appearance is what they hold in their bony hands.</p><p>He yanks the piece of metal out of their hands with the Force.</p><p>"Hey!" the child cries out. "That's mine."</p><p>He scoffs.</p><p>"It's not. You took it. From one of mine."</p><p>At his feet, the droid beeps up an angry storm but he ignores it.</p><p>"Well," the child huffs, somehow not intimidated by him or his thinly veiled admittance that he was the one to kill the men whose corpses they had robbed. "They hardly need it anymore do they? What with them being dead."</p><p>There’s no fault in their logic, he has to acknowledge. Apl’ek has no need anymore for the beskar that used to be part of his ax. He himself has made sure of that.</p><p>"Who are you?" he demands without returning the piece of metal.</p><p>"Nobody," the kid grumbles, their eyes never once leaving the glinting shard in his hand. "Can I get that back?"</p><p>"You're a scavenger," he concludes, waiting neither for confirmation nor for denial. "And this is your BD-unit."</p><p>The droid in question perks up like a loyal hound called by its name. </p><p>"And what’s it to you?"</p><p>Nothing. It's nothing to him. What does he care for a scrawny child ruffling through dust and dirt in the tiny hopes to find something that could be traded for credits or food. And yet, he is intrigued.</p><p>"Do you not know who I am?" he asks next, amused when the child gives him a sceptical once-over, arms crossed over their narrow chest, one eyebrow raised.</p><p>"You another scavenger? Because I've been here first. I called dibs. Go and find yourself another spot."</p><p>Remarkable, he thinks. The most powerful Force-User the galaxy has ever seen. Heir apparent to Lord Vader. Supreme Leader of the First Order. And this child couldn't care less.</p><p>He tosses the axe’s fragment back with a shrug. "I'm no scavenger. I'm merely looking for a way out of here. Show me and I shall leave you to your...explorations."</p><p>The distinct odor of suspicion lies heavily in the Force. This child doesn't believe him; still convinced he's a rival, about to snatch the best part of...junk, the moment their back is turned.</p><p>It would be all too easy to break into this child's mind and take what he needs. Or, even easier, kill it and force the BD-unit to guide him. It's what Kylo Ren would've done.</p><p>"And what do I get in return?" the youngster has the audacity to demand. "I have work to do, you know?"</p><p>They look him over once more, pausing at his ragged shirt and basic trousers, judging him and ultimately deeming him lacking.</p><p>Closing his eyes and taking one deep breath, he forces himself to relax, to not let anger and frustration take a hold of him and tear this brat apart limb by limb.</p><p>"I will pay you."</p><p>The child gives an unimpressed snort.</p><p>"Pay me? How?"</p><p>He closes his eyes, imagining how satisfying a sound their larynx would make crushed beneath his hands, before he answers.</p><p>"I have a ship. A TIE Fighter. You may choose your reward out of anything on that ship."</p><p>That is, if the Sith cultists haven't discovered and destroyed it yet.</p><p>The child's eyes widen in sudden recognition.</p><p>"That fancy ship is yours?" they squeal, all previous distrust forgotten, at least for the moment, washed away by childlike excitement over something as mundane as a TIE Fighter. "The big, black one with the pointy wings?"</p><p>He huffs, irked somewhat by the rather unflattering description of the TIE Fighter as 'pointy'.</p><p>"Indeed. Now, do we have an agreement?"</p><p>All he gets in reply is a toothy grin and what he assumes is supposed to be a wink, before the child turns and makes off into the darkness, motioning for him to follow with a wave of their hand.</p><p>He complies, teeth pressed together tight enough to hurt.<br/><br/></p><p>***<br/><br/></p><p>As it turns out, the child is a chatty one. Which, given their profession, is unexpected and utterly unwelcome.</p><p>"There are other scavengers but they don't dare go here. Too afraid of those freaks with their weird robes. I'm not though. I just hide when they show up. I'm good at that."</p><p>Doubtful, he thinks but doesn't say. More likely it's that this child is of no importance to the cultists guarding the Emperor's legacy on Exegol. Nothing more than an insect, not spared a second glance. Not even when, one day, it would inevitably find itself crushed beneath their feet. </p><p>They're alive because they're a nobody. And they'll die because they're a nobody.</p><p>"My name is Pip, by the way. Short for Pippinus.”</p><p>"Pip," he repeats, letting the single syllable roll off the tip of his tongue. A ridiculous name. But a name nonetheless.</p><p>"Yup," the child prattles on, unaware of his disdain. "And this is Buddy." They give their droid a gentle pet and are rewarded with a pleased hum.</p><p>"Charmed," he says, making no effort to sound sincere.</p><p>Pip isn't so easily deterred. "Not very talkative, are you?" They shrug. "That's fine. I'm fine with doing all the talking. I hardly get to do that."</p><p>The droid—Buddy—gives an indignant beep and Pip is quick to apologise.</p><p>"Ah, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Of course I enjoy talking to you, Buddy. Just that I hardly get to chat with new people. Not many people out here who’d want to talk."</p><p>Which comes as no surprise. Exegol is supposed to be secret, a planet hidden from the watchful eye of the New Republic, inhabited only by the loyal servants of the late Emperor. Or so he thought.</p><p>"Are there others like you?" he asks. "Scavengers?"</p><p>Pip throws him a look over their shoulder, expression carefully neutral.</p><p>"There are. A few at least."</p><p>They're not lying, he can assert that much through the Force, but they're not telling the whole truth either. A cursory brush of the forefront of their mind reveals more than Pip is willing to tell.</p><p>A small community. Brought together not by bonds of blood but by need. Former cultists disillusioned after waiting for their emperor to rise year after year after year. Collecting scraps to build makeshift homes, tools, weapons to hunt. A village. Hidden deep in the forests of Exegol. Surviving on the bare necessities. And fear. Always the fear of being found, of being punished for having dared to turn their backs on the Emperor.</p><p>The Emperor is but a nebulous concept in Pip's half-developed mind. A figure larger than life and, at the same time, no more than a ghost. A story to tell misbehaving children at night. A shadow and no more. He means nothing to them. Neither do the Sith or the First Order, of which they have heard only in passing whispers.</p><p>Their concerns are of a simpler nature: The hole in the roof of the hut they call home, built from scrap metal and held together by fibercord. The water filter that's supposed to clean the rain water but which always acts up for some reason or another. The question of whether or not the piece of beskar they have looted from Al'pek's corpse can be traded for enough food to last them and their family a month.</p><p>He doesn't press for more answers and Pip, judging by the relieved drop in their shoulders is glad for it.</p><p>Unfortunately, his unwillingness to share more information doesn't extend any further than that. They're quick to pick up on another topic and keep chattering all throughout their tiresome journey through the bowels of the rotting planet. Only occasionally does Pip pause in their incessant talking, and only to hurry to the left or right, distracted by the alluring glint of metal.</p><p>By the time they reach the exit, their backpack is filled to the brim with scraps and trinkets.</p><p>Exegol is a dark and weary place but with so many hours spent inside impenetrable darkness, what little light there is outside feels like a supernova, burning his eyes.</p><p>He covers them both with one hand, blinking rapidly, until the pain abates somewhat and he can make out the basic shapes that constitute the planet's rough surface.</p><p>"There we are," Pip exclaims unnecessarily, spreading his arms as if to welcome the weak sun shining down on them into a grateful embrace.</p><p>"Indeed," he mumbles, nowhere near as enthused as the child standing next to him, which is lifting their face up to the barely visible sun. "You held up your end of the bargain."</p><p>Now will he uphold his? He promised the child his pick from what little equipment there is stored on the TIE Fighter but has Pip not received payment enough already? After all, they’re still alive, not yet slain by his hand, and carry with them a piece of beskar worth more than anything that could be found within a relic like an Imperial TIE Fighter.</p><p>More than enough payment.</p><p>Unaware of his inner musings, Pip turns to him, arms pressed into their side, a pleased smile adorning their face.</p><p>"Now where's that TIE Fighter of yours?" they ask.</p><p>He stares at Pip, expression shifting between mild annoyance and exasperated amusement until, at last, he gives a defeated sigh and turns, motioning for Pip to follow.</p><p>The walk to his TIE Fighter seems longer than he remembers, no doubt thanks to his company. </p><p>A child's legs are shorter, he has to remind himself numerous times, not capable of keeping up with his wide sure strides. And more than once the droid has to remind him with a warning beep that Pip is falling behind.</p><p>They don't complain though, not a single word of protests makes it past their lips. They're resilient, he has to give them that. Almost worthy of respect.</p><p>When they reach the TIE Fighter Pip is exhausted, their chest moving up and down in ragged breaths. Though all of that seems forgotten the moment they lay eyes on the admittedly rather unremarkable starship.</p><p>Pip lets out a high-pitched gasp and before he can stop them they've leaped up to the TIE, inspecting every nook and cranny with the easy adoration only ever displayed by children.</p><p>He follows at a more leisurely pace, used to far more impressive vehicles.</p><p>"Is it okay if Buddy scans it?" Pip asks, turning at his approach. "Please?"</p><p>He shrugs. It’s all the same to him.</p><p>Pip takes his indifference as permission and a moment later, their droid companion is busy scanning every part, every angle of the derelict ship.</p><p>He’s left with little choice but to stand and wait until Pip has looked his fill, the ship so much more interesting than him all of a sudden. </p><p>Children, he thinks. so mercurial.</p><p>Once the droid has scanned the ship to Pip’s satisfaction, he steps forward to open the access hatch for the cockpit.</p><p>“Now choose your reward,” he tells Pip, slowly but surely growing impatient.</p><p>Pip doesn’t need to be told twice. With an agility he would not have expected, the child climbs up the TIE Fighter, eager to get inside the cockpit and search it for anything of value.</p><p>He follows at a slower pace, his body still somewhat weakened from the strain of, well, dying he supposes.</p><p>The TIE’s cockpit is not built to house more than a single pilot and even with Pip barely tall enough to reach his waist, the space is uncomfortably narrow.</p><p>“It looks like a proper mess in here,” Pip comments, eyeing the partially exposed power lines of the console.</p><p>He doesn’t deign Pip’s astute observation with a reply.</p><p>“Take what you want and leave,” he tells them instead.</p><p>“Fine, fine. I’m on it, no need to get testy.” They turn to their droid, eyes lighting up with excitement. “You heard the man, Buddy! Let’s get to it.”</p><p>Before he can do so much as raise a brow in question, the droid has hopped off Pip’s shoulder, diving right into the only supply crate the small ship has.</p><p>It doesn’t take long until it emerges again, beeping excitedly.</p><p>“Bacta?” Pip echoes in Basic. “That’s great!”</p><p>Dropping to their knees, Pip begins to rummage around the crate, picking out bacta patches and ration bars that they throw over to the droid, which puts it all in a neat little pile on the ground.</p><p>“I think that’s enough,” he tells them when yet another ration finds its way on top of the ever growing pile.</p><p>Pip halts, throwing him a look over their shoulder before shrugging and getting back to their feet again.</p><p>“Fair enough,” they concede, dusting off their knees and handing their droid a ragged bag that looks like it has been hastily cobbled together using scraps of plasti-foil and sackcloth linen. “Guess you’ll need some rations as well. That doesn’t look like it could take you away from here any time soon.” </p><p>He jerks his head in the direction of the ruined console.</p><p>Indeed, it doesn’t but he’s not going to admit to the hopelessness of his current situation in front of Pip. He merely gives a noncommittal grunt, not in the mood for a more sophisticated reply.</p><p>"Where will you go now?"</p><p>A good question and one he has no answer to. All the more annoying is it then to be asked such a thing by a child like Pip.</p><p>"That’s none of your business.”</p><p>His brusqueness doesn’t intimidate Pip.</p><p>"You any good with that?" they ask, watching wide-eyed as he inspects the faulty power lines.</p><p>It's an ancient piece of tech and thus terribly frustrating: unyielding, unnecessarily complicated, rage-inducing.</p><p>In another lifetime, he would have crushed the whole console of the TIE Fighter with the Force, raging on until everything was amber and ashes. In this new life, the only reaction he can muster is a bone-weary sigh. </p><p>"Silence. I need to concentrate."</p><p>Pip keeps their mouth shut for the duration of two heartbeats, rocking back and forth on their heels before blurting out the question that has quite obviously been sitting on the tip of their tongue.</p><p>"Sometimes the water filter at home stops working. It's always a hassle getting it up and running again, that's what dad says. You think you could fix that?"</p><p>He pauses to throw Pip a disbelieving look over the wide breadth of his shoulder.</p><p>"I won't fix your water filter," he grumbles and turns his attention back to the tangle of cables that's slowly but surely driving him to the brink of insanity.</p><p>"I never said you should," Pip points out. "I asked if you could."</p><p>The sound of his own teeth as he grinds them together is overly loud in his ears. "Of course I could."</p><p>He has tinkered with speeder bikes at the tender age of thirteen, constructed his own lightsaber at twenty-three. A faulty water filter poses no challenge.</p><p>"Well, will you then?"</p><p>He whirls around—his tangled hair falling into his eyes—only to find Pip returning his irritated snarl with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>***<br/><br/></p><p>He goes with Pip for one reason only: they promise tools in exchange for his help. Tools that would make repairs on his TIE Fighter decidedly easier.</p><p>He should have known, he berates himself as he's following Pip, led by them through the clouds of dust engulfing the planet. <br/>Imperial technology is outdated, unreliable, uncomparable to innovations brought into the galaxy by the engineers of the First Order. Junk is what it is. But left with no other choice—after the girl had stolen his ship on Kef Bir—he took whatever was available at the time.</p><p>"Where are we going?" he demands to know after they’ve wandered through the barren wasteland that is Exegol’s surface for what feels like hours.</p><p>Pip jumps at his words, clearly surprised by his sudden need for conversation. When they turn to look at him—indignation written in every line of their dusty face—he can't help but grin. The edges of that smile are razor-sharp but not as cruel as they used to be.</p><p>"Home, of course," Pip tells him when they've regained their composure.</p><p>"And where would that be? There’s nothing but dust and thunder and the murmured whispers of the dead here.”</p><p>Even the Force feels barren, as if the planet is devoid of any sentient life, despite the Sith fanatics roaming the lands and the few hiding from them, like Pip and his people.</p><p>"Just a little longer," Pip tries to console him. "We have to stay hidden. The Red Ones, they’re not merciful."</p><p>Sith fanatics, he figures. Eager to bring Pip and their people to justice for their betrayal, for daring to abandon their sacred post. For wanting more for their children than being born and bred and beaten into perfect soldiers, eager to give their life for a man already dead.</p><p>"You never told me your name," Pip interrupts his thoughts, cradling his payment like a mother would her precious newborn.</p><p>"I haven't," he agrees and leaves it at that.</p><p>"Well, what is it?"</p><p>His steps falter, the dust around his feet settling as he stares down at them, hesitating. He doesn't owe this child a name. Their deal has been made. The payment he promised was delivered. How dare they ask for more than that?</p><p>“Ren,” he says, the name heavy on his tongue. “My name is Ren.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The plan was to wait until they touched down in Lothal, finalised the trading deal, loaded up the ordered medical equipment, and then kill the unsuspecting crew with a few well-aimed blaster bolts. Afterwards, he'd worry about where to go and how to make sure he wouldn't lose his leg due to insufficient medical care and, consequently, gangrene.</p><p>The plan was not to fall asleep on one of the benches in the back hold and startle awake when the freighter touched ground.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here we are, three chapters into this fic and Kylo and Hux still haven't met! So sorry about that guys, haha. I'm the worst.</p><p>A huge thank you to all of you who left comments! Honestly, they're what keep me going. So bless all of you.</p><p>Once more, a huge shout-out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> who went over this chapter and who endures my whining whenever I feel stuck. If you're into Kylux Adjacents you should check out her fanfics! Every single one is a goddamn masterpiece!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <strong>III. Loss</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The plan was simple, almost embarrassingly so, but with his limited resources and somewhat critical condition, it was all he could come up with on such short notice.</p><p>The plan was to wait until they touched down in Lothal, finalised the trading deal, loaded up the ordered medical equipment, and then kill the unsuspecting crew with a few well-aimed blaster bolts. Afterwards, he'd worry about where to go and how to make sure he wouldn't lose his leg due to insufficient medical care and, consequently, gangrene.</p><p>The plan was not to fall asleep on one of the benches in the back hold and startle awake when the freighter touched ground.</p><p>"Easy there," RO-5933’s vocoder-distorted voice rings out, much too close for comfort.</p><p>Hux blinks his eyes open, lashes fluttering until the stormtrooper's helmet materialises in front of him.</p><p>His own helmet sits skewed upon his head, not quite fitting him. He's lucky RO-5933 and the rest of the crew seem to care very little for protocol and proper appearance. Had Hux been their commanding officer, the lot of them would've already been sent to reconditioning a long time ago.</p><p>"We've arrived?" he asks, keeping his voice low in fear of his crisp imperial accent—which he has spent years perfecting at the behest of his father—betraying him.</p><p>General Hux is, after all, well-known for his imposing speeches and thundering voice. He doesn’t quite reach the deep cadence of Supreme Leader Ren, but is fairly intimidating nevertheless.</p><p>RO-5933 doesn't answer immediately, rocking back and forth on his feet before he gives a helpless shrug.</p><p>"Something happened," he says at last.</p><p>Hux sucks in a measured breath, his already limited patience running thin.</p><p>"Something happened?" he echoes, irritated not only by the troopers' obtuseness but also by the insistent sting in his thigh that tells him he ought to change the bacta patch and bandages.</p><p>Oblivious to Hux's mounting frustration (or, perhaps, willfully ignorant of it), RO-5933 shrugs once more.</p><p>"We've experienced problems with our communication systems. We can't reach the Steadfast...or any other First Order vessel..."</p><p>Underneath his helmet, Hux's eyes narrow to slits. "What do you mean, we can't reach the Order?"</p><p>RO-5933 huffs and it’s a painful reminder that Hux is no longer a General, no longer a member of High Command. In the eyes of this trooper he's a fellow soldier, a comrade at best, neither below nor above him and doesn’t owe him an explanation.</p><p>"Just as I said, communications are dead. No signal at all. Kriffing nothing. No distress signal either. It's as if the Steadfast has simply dropped off the face of the universe."</p><p>Panic surges through his blood like a deadly dose of raw spice, quickly followed by a mounting anxiety he can't explain or rationalise.</p><p>"Surely only a temporary disruption," he argues.</p><p>RO-5933 tilts his head but stays silent. It's clear that neither of them believes what he's just said.</p><p>He rises with a suddenness that has his vision explode with white light. If not for Ro grabbing him by his arms and holding him up, Hux is sure he would've dropped to the ground in an ungainly heap.</p><p>"Let me," he demands, forcing his legs to obey and lead him to the pilot's cabin.</p><p>Neither the pilot nor the commanding officer is pleased with him interrupting their desperate attempts to contact the First Order. It's nothing short of a miracle they don't order RO-5933 to kick him out again when he comes barging into the cockpit with the casualness of a man used to having more power.</p><p>A grave mistake. He should exhibit more caution, Hux reminds himself when Erinna glares at him from underneath her officer’s hat. To them, he's no more than a lowly stormtrooper with no authority of his own.</p><p>The thought doesn't sit right with Hux.</p><p>"What is the meaning of this, DR-4554?” she asks.</p><p>It takes Hux a full three seconds before he realises that she's talking to him; that this was the number of the trooper whose armor he's wearing.</p><p>"I--" he trails off, unsure how to justify his misdemeanor.</p><p>"We were just worried, captain. This is highly unusual."</p><p>Hux whirls around, the sudden motion almost giving him whiplash.</p><p>RO-5933 is right behind him, his hand outstretched as if he fears Hux might faint any given moment and it is his responsibility to catch him should it happen.</p><p>Compassion, Hux realises with a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. This isn’t how a stormtrooper of the First Order ought to behave. He makes a mental note to send him to reconditioning before he remembers that he's not a general anymore..</p><p>Erinna's gaze moves back and forth between him and RO-5933, the displeasure in her eyes not quite extinguished but at least mellowed by the troopers' open concern. She has a soft spot for him, it seems. How utterly misguided.</p><p>"It is," Erinna agrees, crossing her arms over her chest. "Especially now."</p><p>Now that the First Order is about to enter into an open war with the Resistance, intent on snuffing out every last one of those incorrigible terrorists thinking themselves revolutionaries.</p><p>She shakes her head as if to dispel any doubts lingering in the recesses of her mind and turns to Hux.</p><p>"You two," she jerks her head at RO-5933, "go and check the hyperspace relay. I doubt that's the issue. Our hypercomm seems to be working just fine, but better to be safe than sorry."</p><p>Hux follows RO-5933 without further protest. He has already drawn too much attention. Now isn’t the time for arguments.</p><p>As soon as the two of them exit the freighter, Hux is hit by the unmistakable smell of a spaceport. Even he, who has been raised aboard a Star Destroyer and lived there for most of his life, knows that distinct odor: The smell of grease and oil used to keep not the ships but the many droids maintaining them running smoothly; a heavy note of burned durasteel from where mechanics are mending any damage a ship might have sustained during its journey; the stench of sweat and shit and piss that not even the filter in his helmet can keep out. </p><p>They make their way past a couple of HV-7 droids, obediently loading up the crates filled with medical equipment, marked with the symbol of the First Order. They look at neither Hux nor RO-5933, programmed not to care.</p><p>"I don't think there's anything wrong with the relay," RO-5933 says, before they've done so much as removed the durasteel cover.</p><p>Hux sighs, sorely tempted to take off the ill-fitting helmet and rub his temples. It seems in addition to his aching ribs and the stinging pain in his leg, he's also developing a headache.</p><p>"Then I can only assume the whole First Order has simply...vanished into thin air,"  Hux says with a dramatic wave of his hand.</p><p>RO-5933’s shoulders sag, his confidence crumbling.</p><p>"I'm just saying there might've been another Resistance attack that took out our communication systems."</p><p>Ripping the latch hiding the ship's comlink transmitter open, Hux hisses when the fabric of his glove catches on one of the razor sharp edges. He turns to RO-5933 with blood dripping from his fingertip.</p><p>His first instinct is to argue, to point out that the Resistance is all but wiped out, nothing left of it but a few delusional individuals that are no match for the might of the First Order. And it would be the truth. He knows their numbers, knows what little they have left in terms of manpower, resources, hope. After all, has he not fed them intel for well over a month, desperate to topple the mad king sitting upon the First Order's throne? His throne?</p><p>"They don't have the numbers," he says when the silence drags on for too long and he can feel the doubt radiating off RO-5933 in thick waves.</p><p>"They managed to defeat us on Crait just fine, despite their numbers."</p><p>"They managed to defeat us because Ren--"</p><p>Hux stops himself just in time, biting down on his tongue to keep it in check. </p><p>The Resistance's victory on Crait wasn't so much a victory as it was prolonging the inevitable. Had it not been for Ren, then there wouldn’t be a Resistance anymore to question the First Order's sovereignty in the galaxy.</p><p>His anger is wasted on the likes of RO-5933. What does a stormtrooper know after all? No more than what High Command wants them to. Who to shoot and where and little else.</p><p>This is what Ren has made of them: a laughing stock even amongst their own. Feared in the galaxy, perhaps, but not revered as they should be. </p><p>The First Order was meant to bring back a semblance of order. With Ren at its helm, all it brought to the galaxy was more chaos.</p><p>Hux swallows down the bitterness clogging his throat, the disappointment, the burning furry and icy contempt, and turns back to the hypercomm relay.</p><p>After a few moments of pointless fumbling, Hux shuts the relay with more force than strictly necessary.</p><p>"There's nothing wrong with the relay," he says.</p><p>RO-5933 shrugs. Saying without speaking: I told you so. </p><p>Hux can't argue with him. It wounds his engineering pride, that he’s unable to figure out the issue with the kriffing relay. He refuses to believe that it has anything to do with the Resistance. Denial, a young version of himself would've called it.</p><p>It can't be.</p><p>But fate is a cruel mistress and when he turns to return to the ship, he's almost run over by a group of excited younglings, boys and girls too young to have seen anything but this hidden spaceport in their short lifespan, but foolish enough to dream of the wide, wide galaxy.</p><p>They rush past him without so much as an apologetic glance in his direction when he very nearly stumbles. RO-5933 has the audacity to shake his head in fond exasperation and mumble something about kids these days as he looks after the chaotic posse.</p><p>No wonder the outer worlds have so little respect for the First Order when the outrageous behaviour of their inhabitants results in no immediate consequences.</p><p>Incensed, Hux follows after them, not caring for RO-5933's confused calls, adamant to teach those rascals a lesson.</p><p>The moment he catches up with them all his intentions are forgotten.</p><p>The children have gathered in a half-circle, sitting crossed-legged in front of a dusty holoscreen, swaying excitedly back and forth as they watch grainy footage of what seems to be a space battle of epic proportions.</p><p>Hux knows those ships: their simple elegance, their sharp lines, even the older models in between the more familiar ships that are painted an atrocious red—as if that could negate their technological inferiority.</p><p>What he's looking at is the disgraceful fall of the First Order.</p><p>The children cheer whenever a Resistance ship manages to break through a star destroyer's shields; whistle when an X-wing shoots down another screeching TIE Fighter in a heated one-on-one. They celebrate the destruction of what Hux has spent his whole life building, the annihilation of all his achievements, earned with blood and sweat and tears.</p><p>This is not how he wanted it to end. It was Ren who was supposed to be destroyed, Ren whose madness should've been stopped. Ren--</p><p>The connection cuts off, rudely interrupting Hux's train of thought, and is replaced with an, unfortunately, all too familiar face.</p><p>Or should he say mask?</p><p>The image of Ren seems to be staring right at him, making him squirm in his ill-fitting boots. It's unreasonable, Hux knows. It’s no more than a fuzzy holopic and one that must've been taken well before his ascension to Supreme Leader of the First Order. There are no cracks in his helmet, the surface pristine, unbroken.</p><p>Deceased, it reads in Aurebesh, right underneath the headshot. Unspectacular. As if the death of the scourge of both the galaxy and Hux's own life is merely an afterthought, worth no more than a footnote.</p><p>Hux can't breathe.</p><p>It was never supposed to end like this. With him alive and the Order gone. With him losing...everything.</p><p>He jumps when gloved fingers curl around his arm. When Hux turns, RO-5339's masked face is staring back at him.</p><p>"We should go," he mumbles, confusingly timid, his voice so low Hux can barely hear him.</p><p>He pulls away with a hiss and turns back to the excitedly giggling children and the old holoscreen, only to feel RO-5339's hands on him once more.</p><p>"We need to go," he presses.</p><p>Something in his voice gives Hux pause. He sounds hurried, panicked even.</p><p>Careful not to move his head and attract any undue attention, Hux lets his gaze wander, moving past the children to settle on the many merchants, technicians, smugglers and guns for a hire that can always be found in space ports such as this one.</p><p>They're staring. In a way meant to appear casual, non-threatening.</p><p>Hux has endured too many a meeting with old Imperials thinking themselves his better to be fooled by such forced nonchalance.</p><p>It’s all too obvious that they're the outsiders here. The despised occupier. Not esteemed guests, not even respected trade partners. They traded with the First Order because they had no other choice. </p><p>Now that the tables have turned, RO-5339 is right not to want to overstay their welcome. Not that they’ve been welcome in the first place.</p><p>The children are still oblivious. Cheering when another TIE Fighter goes out in a burning blaze. Not because they care for either the Resistance nor the First Order but because the spectacle of a space battle is exciting and unreal. They assign no real world consequences to the unexpected downfall of a power such as the First Order.</p><p>Hux almost envies them that ignorance.</p><p>"Come on," RO-5339 urges once more and this time, Hux goes with him, unable to endure the thinly veiled contempt directed at them for much longer.</p><p>The first blaster bolt hits him in the upper arm and is, thankfully, deflected by his armor. The second misses entirely and hits a wooden crate instead.</p><p>"Move!" Erinna's booming voice cuts through the noise of the blaster fire.</p><p>She's standing at the open shuttle ramp, just a few feet away, providing much needed cover with her own blaster.</p><p>The air is filled with the unmistakable noise of blaster fire and the less familiar sound of angry alien voices. Only a few speak Galactic Standard but those who do, make their stance painfully clear:</p><p>Death to the First Order. Death to the galactic oppressors.</p><p>Hux flushes red beneath his helmet.</p><p>Oppressors? When it was the First Order who started trading with these people when they were brought down low after the fall of the Empire? When it was the First Order who gave their human children a home and a purpose? When otherwise, they would've just died forgotten by their people and the universe at large?</p><p>He ducks when another blaster bolt whooshes past his ear. Maybe this isn’t the time to contemplate the inherent ingratitude of lesser people.</p><p>Hux rushes up the shuttle's ramp with little elegance and falls to his knees when he stumbles over an unexpected obstacle.</p><p>Looking back, he realises with dawning horror that it's a lifeless body; one of the troopers, the visor of their helmet cracked where a blaster bolt cut through it.</p><p>His ears are ringing with the sound of blaster bolts, the moans of the wounded and Erinna's increasingly desperate commands.</p><p>They're not going to make it. Not if their pilot isn't going to get them in the air and off this planet soon.</p><p>"What's taking her so pfasking long?!" Erinna screams.</p><p>A fair question, one Hux is asking himself. Their pilot, a young woman of little words, should've initiated the take-off the moment the first blaster bolt was fired. </p><p>Yet here they are, slowly but surely getting surrounded, their blasters threatening to overheat. </p><p>Getting back up on shaky feet, he makes his way to the front of the shuttle, only to stop dead in his tracks when halfway there.</p><p>There she is, curled up in a fetal position on the dusty shuttle floor, framed by a puddle of blood. She has been hit in the back.</p><p>But how? None of their attackers could've made it past Erinna and into the shuttle. Except...</p><p>The unmistakable crackle of a cloaking device makes him swirl around, hand already on blaster dangling from his hip.</p><p>He's not going to make it. His attacker—a Devaronian, their teeth sharpened to horrifying spikes—has his finger on the trigger already. Hux is going to die. At the hand of someone like this.</p><p>Hux can't help but flinch when the zip of a blaster bolt cuts through the air. </p><p>Pathetic, he chides himself and prepares for a pain that doesn't come.</p><p>Surprised and no little confused, he looks up, staring at his adversary who returns his wide-eyed look with equal confusion. His eyes are so wide, Hux can see the whites in them from where he's standing a few feet away and then the man keels over and on the floor where he lies in an undignified heap, the blaster hole in the back of his dirty cloak still smoking.</p><p>"You can thank me later," RO-5339 tells him, walking past Hux with a noticeable limp. "We really need to get off this planet."</p><p>An estimation Hux can't argue with. He walks over the body of the dead pilot, careful not to step into their congealing blood, and hurries after RO-5339.</p><p>"What about the captain?" Hux calls after him.</p><p>"Deceased," RO-5339 mumbles, barely audible through his helmet. Something must have damaged the built-in vocoder; his voice sounding uncharacteristically weak.</p><p>Hux falls into the co-pilot's seat with an unceremonious huff. His chest is hurting; it's hard to breathe and he fears he might have overexerted himself.</p><p>Erinna is dead. Their pilot is dead. And if it hadn't been for RO-5339 then he'd be dead too. He can't say he particularly likes these numbers.</p><p>To say he’s familiar with the peculiarities of these light freighters would be an overstatement, but this is certainly not the time to study the ship’s handbook before attempting a take-off.</p><p>He's lucky insofar that, though recommended, a co-pilot doesn't seem mandatory. RO-5339 is in no condition to assist him; slumped in the seat next to Hux the way he is, with his breathing laboured and his whole body wrecked by tremors.</p><p>Hux doesn't pay him any mind. First, he needs to get them out of this mess, then he can worry about the stormtrooper's condition.</p><p>He jumps when a blaster bolt hits the transparisteel windshield. It holds, at least for the moment.</p><p>Cursing under his breath, Hux fumbles with the controls, his fingers shaking uncontrollably. It's nothing short of a miracle when the freighter takes off, rattled by blaster bolts until they can no longer reach them.</p><p>"Jumping into hyperspace," Hux announces to nobody in particular, his own voice pathetic and weak.</p><p>The jump is rough, the freighter nowhere near as technologically advanced as the Star Destroyers Hux is used to. Next to him, RO-5339 gives a pained groan.</p><p>"We should be safe. For now," Hux says, unsure on how else to offer RO-5339 assurance. "I fear one of the blaster bolts has damaged the transparisteel window though."</p><p>RO-5339 huffs a humourless laugh.</p><p>"Pretty sure that's the least of my problems right now."</p><p>Hux stares at him. "What are you talking about?"</p><p>RO-5339 shrugs and even this motion, simple as it may be, seems to exhaust him further.</p><p>"One of the bastards got me real good." He chuckles. "Didn't want to worry you, fresh-face, so I said nothing."</p><p>He lifts his hand from where it has rested at his side to reveal a deep gash oozing blood.</p><p>Behind the visor of his helmet, Hux's eyes widen.</p><p>"That's no blaster wound."</p><p>"No," RO-5339 agrees, "that's what you get when you bring a d'skar to a blaster fight. Bastard got me good."</p><p>Hux is out of his seat in a heartbeat, frantically searching for the First-Aid kit he knows must be hidden somewhere. Protocol demands it. </p><p>Then he remembers what it is they're transporting.</p><p>He's about to hurry to the cargo area when RO-5339's bloody hand on his arm holds him back.</p><p>"Don't bother," he mumbles. "It's a little too late for that."</p><p>"Ridiculous," Hux hisses, about to slap RO-5339's hand away when the other speaks up again.</p><p>"You can slap all of the bacta stored in that cargo on me and it's not gonna make a licking difference. The d'skar dagger was poisoned. I'm already dead."</p><p>"The cargo list included antidotes," Hux points out, hands shaking with poorly suppressed rage.</p><p>How dare this trooper give up so easily? How dare he lecture Hux on matters such as this?</p><p>RO-5339 hums softly and Hux can hear the humour in his voice, the fond amusement at Hux's desperate attempts to save his life.</p><p>"I'll be dead before you can do so much as walk out of this door. You want to help me? Then for pfask's sake, get that helmet off me. I can't breathe."</p><p>Taking off your helmet without explicit permission from your superior officer is grounds for reconditioning, Hux thinks but doesn't say.</p><p>What does it matter now? The First Order is no more. Wiped out by a motley crew of misfits and would-be revolutionaries.</p><p>Hux takes off the helmet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Mistrust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Don't! He's my friend! What are you doing?!" Pip's shrill cries reverberate in his ears.<br/> <br/>Ren would've told them to shut up, if only he wasn't busy keeping the entire village—consisting of no more than twenty people—from killing him in cold blood.</p><p>They're more of a challenge than he would've expected. Not trained in the Force like he is, but aware of it and the way it can be manipulated, courtesy of their former lives as Sith acolytes. Charging from all sides, with naught but knives and blasters as their weapons, he quickly finds himself surrounded.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry, guys. I wanted to have this chapter uploaded last Sunday already but I deadass forgot to do it. Thank you so much to all of you who have left such wonderful and lovely comments. Several people mentioned they really liked Ro and that warmed my little heart! I was always under the impression people didn't particularly care for OCs, so that was a pleasant surprise.</p><p> </p><p>I also want to thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> who, once more, went over this chapter and made it presentable. Thank you, darling!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong><br/>IV. Loss</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Don't! He's my friend! What are you doing?!" Pip's shrill cries reverberate in his ears.<br/> <br/>Ren would've told them to shut up, if only he wasn't busy keeping the entire village—consisting of no more than twenty people—from killing him in cold blood.</p><p>They're more of a challenge than he would've expected. Not trained in the Force like he is, but aware of it and the way it can be manipulated, courtesy of their former lives as Sith acolytes. Charging from all sides, with naught but knives and blasters as their weapons, he quickly finds himself surrounded.</p><p>"Dad!" Pip cries out, pulling at the sleeve of a man with a scar bisecting his face.</p><p>"Get behind me, Pip," the man huffs, eyes never leaving Ren's face as he pushes the child behind him. As if that could stop Ren, should he truly want to end their lives.</p><p>"We won't go back," he says, fixing Ren with a cold stare, the glint in his eyes promising a world of pain should he try and do...what exactly?</p><p>"Back?" he wonders aloud.</p><p>The man's face falls, the mask of determination slipping to reveal uncertainty, fear.</p><p>"Ah," Ren hums, amused despite himself, despite being surrounded by a horde of former Sith loyalists itching to put a blaster bolt through his chest. "You think I'm here to punish you for your betrayal."</p><p>The man says nothing, schools his expression into one of indifference instead. It's not particularly convincing.</p><p>Ren huffs a laugh and straightens, showing his empty hands. He's unarmed. He has come in peace, as the saying goes.</p><p>"Liar," a woman to his left cries out, holding a broken vibroblade in her bony hands.</p><p>Ren pays her no mind.</p><p>"You think you know why I’m here," he says, addressing the man in front of him. "You are wrong."</p><p>Letting his eyes wander, Ren takes in every haggard face, every man and woman and child, every alien and human around him.</p><p>"The Emperor is gone," he growls, raising his voice until it's echoing through the narrow valley. "The Sith are no longer. The First Order is gone. And soon the fanatics hunting you for sport will be gone too. Be glad for it. You weren't important enough to warrant a painful death."</p><p>He's not a hound sent to end these people's pathetic lives, not the sharp tool used to bring about their ruin.</p><p>Uncertainty rises all around him, filling the air with hushed whispers and the Force with a nervous energy that dances over his skin like electric currents.</p><p>"Gone?" one voice asks, caught between hope and trepidation.</p><p>"The galaxy thought so before," another voice counters, tone sharp. A skeptic.</p><p>The man—Pip's father and the leader of these people it seems—shushes them with a wave of his hand.</p><p>"If it's true what you say, if the emperor is no more, if his empire has fallen at last, and if you’re not his executor, then why are you here?"</p><p>Tilting his head to one side, Ren gives a careless shrug.</p><p>"To repair your water filter."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The water filter—located behind a rundown shack that, according to Pip, is the residence of the village elder—is fixed easily enough.</p><p>A child could've done it, Ren thinks with a look at the wide-eyed Pip.</p><p>Pip’s father isn't as easily impressed. When Ren proclaims, loud enough for the whole village to hear, that the deed is done, he doesn't so much as utter a thank you. Instead, he goes to inspect the filter, knocking on the pipes and listening to the flow of water before taking a hesitant sip.</p><p>It's nowhere near as clear as the water Ren is used to, cleaned by the First Order's superior filters and treated until it was crystal clear and without impurities. For Pip's father, it's enough. </p><p>Straightening up, the old man gives a terse nod to the crowd that has waited in silent anticipation.</p><p>Ren huffs a laugh. As if he needs an old man's approval. Twice he had let himself be fooled by those he considered wise. Twice they had to pay the price for deceiving him. If this old man wishes to be the third then that can be arranged.</p><p>When Pip's father turns back to him, his weather-beaten face is serious but no longer can Ren detect any mistrust. And when the man's wrinkled hand lands on his shoulder to give a good-natured clap—as if to say: well done, my boy—Ren almost jumps, his hand twitching with the instinctive need to reach for a lightsaber that is no longer there.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Ren stills, his stomach tightening with a queer feeling previously unknown.</p><p>"It was nothing."</p><p>He's not being humble—though the villagers now looking at him with something akin to awe seem to think so. It was nothing. A deed entirely motivated by his own selfishness. He needs these people's approval, their goodwill. In hopes that their gratitude extends far enough to offer him aid in his time of need as well.</p><p>"We could use people like you. With quick minds and strong bodies." </p><p>He eyes Ren's muscles—visible beneath the loose shirts he's wearing—with blatant interest.</p><p>"Perhaps," Ren allows. He's not going to argue that particular estimation. These people are weak, doomed to die a gruesome death sooner rather than later should they not learn to defend themselves against the Sith fanatics still roaming this planet. They won't be able to hide forever.</p><p>"But that's not what I'm here for."</p><p>Pip's father tilts his head, eyes unblinking as he regards Ren. "You didn't repair our water filter out of the sheer goodness of your heart."</p><p>Ren shakes his head. "No, I didn't." There's little point in lying. This man is seeing right through him and Ren can respect that.</p><p>"I came because my ship is in dire need of repairs. I had hoped to exchange the parts I need for..."</p><p>For what? Is a fixed water filter enough to demand several ship parts, no matter how old they may be?</p><p>He frowns. Why try and barter with these people at all? He can take whatever he wants, with or without a lightsaber.</p><p>Next to him, Pip perks up.</p><p>"There are other things that need fixing," they say, throwing Ren a blinding smile when he turns to glare at the child.</p><p>Ren has half a mind to put Pip back into their place—he's not these people’s own personal mechanic—but Pip's father is quick to speak up.</p><p>"There are," he agrees, head tilted at a thoughtful angle. "Not only the water filters but some of the vaporators too. I'm sure our guards would benefit from the guidance of an experienced fighter as well."</p><p>Indignation spreads in Ren’s chest, settling in his ribcage hot and heavy.</p><p>"You want me to train these men?" he wonders aloud, too baffled by the sheer audacity to keep his thoughts to himself. Aghast, he takes in the ragtag crowd shuffling on their feet.</p><p>"Farmers, scavengers, nerf herders. These are no fighters. They'll never be. Pointless to train them."</p><p>"We're not--"</p><p>Ren turns, silencing the man who dared to speak up with a scathing glare.</p><p>"I'm no teacher," he says, eyes never leaving the shaking man's face.</p><p>He's no teacher, not for these people at least. Not a single drop of Force-sensitive blood in them. Nothing to rouse his interest.</p><p>"Perhaps not," Pip's father allows, "but we'd be grateful for any guidance nonetheless. Should you decide to help us then be assured that we'll make sure that you receive all the necessary parts you need to repair your ship. And more than that: we can provide you with rations and what little medical supplies we have."</p><p>"And you can stay with us," Pip is quick to offer, not at all deterred by the warning look their father sends their way. "There's room in the stables."</p><p>"The stables?" Ren echoes, disbelief colouring his voice.</p><p>Pip's father is quick to admonish his child and assure Ren.  "No guest of ours is going to stay in the stables," he says. "You can have Pippinus' room."</p><p>Pip gapes. "What?"</p><p>Ah, Ren thinks as a sardonic smile curls the corners of his lips, their very first taste of betrayal. How lovely to watch.</p><p>"Very well," he declares, "the parts I need in exchange for repairs and training. But first, I need to rest."</p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see how the shoulders of Pip's father—tense up until now, hunched forward in worry—fall.</p><p>Ren can feel the relief radiating off him like a thick cloud of perfume and it has him scrunch up his nose.</p><p>He's afraid of him, Ren realises with perverse pleasure. Has, perhaps, feared Ren might decide such negotiations are beneath him. His worries are not at all unwarranted. It would have been easier to kill them all, then loot their corpses and take from their homes what could be of use to him.</p><p>But he's exhausted still and has yet to find his balance in the Force again. Some rest and, if he's lucky, some nourishment will do him good. </p><p>If he has to repair the odd datapad or water pump to get as much, then so be it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The room they show him barely deserves the name. It's a glorified closet at best. The smallest room in an already small house, built from the scavenged outer shells of ancient star destroyers and what little wood they could find on a planet as dead as Exegol.</p><p>Even so, it's the biggest house in the village, telling of the status of Pippinus' father and the high regard to which he's held within his community.</p><p>His wife—who has introduced herself as Himil—seems to sense his disregard for their living arrangements, for she's quick to apologise for their humble abode.</p><p>Ren waves her off. "It will suffice."</p><p>He's no stranger to such a way of living. The memories of his time as a padawan, forced to share living and sleeping space with others, have not entirely faded away. Even as Kylo Ren, he preferred the starkness of his quarters aboard the Finalizer to the lavish quarters favoured by some of the old Imperials serving beneath him.</p><p>Both of Pip's parents possess enough common sense to leave him to his own devices after showing him his new bedroom. Pip though has not inherited any of their parents' caution.</p><p>They’re standing in their former room still long after their parents have left, arms crossed over their chest, an expression of utmost indignation souring their dirty face.</p><p>"You know, I wouldn't have offered you to come with me had I known that pa would kick me out of my own room," they say, nose scrunched up in a way that, inexplicably, reminds Ren of the girl.</p><p>"Your father," Ren huffs, shaking off any thoughts of Rey threatening to creep to the forefront of his mind, "he's the leader of these people?"</p><p>Pip pauses for a moment, face slipping as outrage makes way for confusion.</p><p>"He is. Why?"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Why what?"</p><p>"Why is he the leader and not someone else?" Ren asks, growing impatient. "Someone younger, stronger. Someone who can protect you."</p><p>For the first time since knowing Pip (short as that time has been) Ren can see hints of anger: a furrowed brow, a tightened fist, a flare in the force that speaks of Pip's rising emotions. Interesting.</p><p>"Pa is strong! He used to be a soldier!"</p><p>"In the Imperial army?"</p><p>Pip tilts their head. "Imperial army?"</p><p>Of course, Ren should not have expected a child to know anything about the Empire. They live only in the present, neither the past nor the future are of any concern to them. It's almost enviable.</p><p>"If he was a soldier once," Ren goes on, not caring much for Pip's confusion, "why would he need me to train these people?"</p><p>"Duh, because Pa is too old now. And he has a bad knee. You're strong, maybe even stronger than him. Pa saw that and figured you could do it."</p><p>It's hard arguing that estimation, particularly when delivered with such conviction. Besides, Pip isn’t wrong: he is certainly stronger than Pip's father and having him as a temporary ally is preferable to having him as an enemy.</p><p>Pip's father was clever to secure his cooperation. Perhaps not everyone in this village is a bumbling fool. And perhaps he can make use of these people as much as they will undoubtedly make use of him.</p><p>"I wish to retire for the night," he announces, his decision made.</p><p>"But--" Pip begins to argue but Ren is in no mood for further discussion. He reaches out with the Force and, with a single flick of his wrist, penetrates the kid's mind.</p><p>"You will leave now," he instructs. "Tomorrow, you will wake me before sunrise. Bring nourishment with you."</p><p>"I will leave now," Pip begins, dutifully repeating the instructions, but Ren has already turned away.</p><p>He needs rest and much of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Farewell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They say people look peaceful in death. </p>
<p>There's nothing peaceful about the motionless face staring back at Hux, the lips a bright red, smeared with blood, coughed up in the throes of death. The skin is ashen, the muscles beneath slowly going slack, the wide-eyed expression seemingly shifting even in death, as if a million maggots are already crawling underneath the skin and devouring the still warm flesh.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much all of you who were kind enough to leave comments on the last chapter. They're honestly what keep me going. So thank you! You all rock!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>V. Farewell</strong>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>Hux holds onto Ro tightly, cradling him like a newborn, the man’s head resting in his lap, until the rattling intakes of breath still.</p>
<p>It must take no longer than a few minutes but feels like an eternity, an endless suffering that Hux is forced to witness as the intelligent spark in Ro’s eyes slowly fades away until all that’s left to hold in Hux’s shaking arms is an empty husk.</p>
<p>They say people look peaceful in death. </p>
<p>There's nothing peaceful about the motionless face staring back at Hux, the lips a bright red, smeared with blood, coughed up in the throes of death. The skin is ashen, the muscles beneath slowly going slack, the wide-eyed expression seemingly shifting even in death, as if a million maggots are already crawling underneath the skin and devouring the still warm flesh.</p>
<p>Hux can't look away. He can't bring himself to get up and drag the body to the cargo bay where the medical equipment is stored in cooled containers. He should keep it cool, decelerate decomposition. A rotting corpse is the last thing he needs right now.</p>
<p>And yet he stays exactly where he is: sitting on his knees with a dead man in his lap and blood on his hands.</p>
<p>Ro can't be much older than him. If anything, he seems a few years younger. Ren's age, his mind provides, little helpfully. His hair too, is of a similar shade as Ren’s, though not quite as long. Proper regulation length. It does not please Hux as much as it should.</p>
<p>Get up, he chides himself. What does it matter that Ro died? He's a soldier. They've just lost a war. Losses were to be expected. If there’s one inevitable outcome of war, it is death. Hux knows this. How can he not? When he grew up with Brendol Hux for a father?</p>
<p>He doesn't get up. Not yet. Instead, he reaches out with shaking hands and blood that's not his own drying underneath his fingernails, and closes Ro’s blue eyes.</p>
<p>And for a long while after, he does nothing. He kneels on the floor, petrified, every muscle in his body refusing to move as he stares down at the trooper in his arms. Ro still not looks like he’s at peace. He looks as if he suffered. There’s no tranquility, no silent dignity. There’s nothing.</p>
<p>It's the insistent beeping of the console that tears him out of his trance.</p>
<p>Hux turns but from where he’s seated on the floor, it's impossible to make out what's on the navicomputer’s display.</p>
<p>Careful, as if he could still hurt Ro, Hux lays him down and rises to his feet, grimacing when his knees crack. Later, he tells himself. He'll take care of the body later.</p>
<p>With one last look at Ro, Hux makes his way to the cockpit, sitting down in the pilot's seat with a deflated sigh.</p>
<p>The autopilot is set to return to the Unknown Regions. To Exegol, Hux realises with dawning horror. </p>
<p>Cursing under his breath, he attempts to override the autopilot and set a new destination—though where the journey should take him, he doesn't know. </p>
<p>The usual override codes that would allow him to take control of the vessel aren’t working—it seems not only his access on board the Steadfast has been revoked—but there are other ways and means to deactivate a stubborn AI.</p>
<p>Preparing jump into hyperspace the computer informs him, as if to mock his override efforts.</p>
<p>"No, you're not," Hux hisses, punching in yet another command.</p>
<p>This would be easier if he knew where to go, if he had a destination in mind more precise than as far away from the Steadfast as this ride will take him.</p>
<p>Jump into hyperspace in five...</p>
<p>He needs more time, a few more minutes. He knows he can do this. All he needs are the coordinates of a planet to override those programmed into the ship’s AI.</p>
<p>Four.</p>
<p>An outer rim planet if possible.</p>
<p>Three.</p>
<p>Indifferent to the presence of a former First Order general.</p>
<p>Two.</p>
<p>Somewhere with a small enough population to be able to land unnoticed but not so small that his arrival would raise eyebrows.</p>
<p>A place where the crates of bacta and medical equipment can be traded for food and lodging. A place where it wouldn't matter that those crates wear the symbol of the First Order. A place right in the middle of nowhere.</p>
<p>One.</p>
<p>"Kriffing hells!" Hux hisses, punching in the first coordinates that come to mind.</p>
<p>The sudden jump into hyperspace sends him flying backwards.</p>
<p>Pain explodes in his back and injured leg and he's almost certain he has bruised another rib.</p>
<p>Groaning, he drags himself into the pilot's seat, slumping into the smooth Gundark leather with a defeated sigh.</p>
<p>He did it. He's circumvented the autopilot.</p>
<p>"Hah!"</p>
<p>He coughs up a laugh, the sound distorted and weak, as if he has forgotten how to do it, as if his vocal cords no longer remember how to produce a sound of joy.</p>
<p>It will take a little more than an hour until he's arrived at his destination. Time he should use to prepare as best he can: Treat his wounds with the bacta patches stored in the back. See if he can find some clothes to change into, something less auspicious than a Stormtrooper armor. He should think of a name, a new identity, a plausible backstory to present to people should they ask what has brought him to the Outer Rim.</p>
<p>He should---</p>
<p>He falls asleep, lured into forgetfulness by the gentle hum of the hyperdrive core and the rhythmic beeping of the console, like somebody singing a lullaby.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>The urgent beeping of the ship's alarm is what tears him from a dreamless sleep.</p>
<p>And for a moment, lasting no longer than a heartbeat, as his brain is still struggling to catch up with his waking body, Hux expects to open his eyes and be greeted by the familiar sight of his quarters aboard the Finalizer: the elegant, sharp lines, the muted colours, the comforting order.</p>
<p>The reality is far less pleasant. When he finally blinks all the sleep that has collected in the corners of his eyes away, he finds himself staring at a freighter console.</p>
<p>Landing sequence initiated. Brace for impact.</p>
<p>The flashing lights on the main screen are too bright. Looking at them, it feels like somebody is slicing his eyeballs open with old-fashioned razor blades.</p>
<p>Hux groans. This is not the time to wallow in self-pity. The autopilot can only do so much, meaning that it will calculate the nearest space port and land there. Something that Hux needs to prevent at all costs.</p>
<p>"No spaceport," he mumbles to himself, hunched over the console. </p>
<p>Some sleep did him good. He feels more rested, less on edge. (He tries not to think about Ro's corpse lying no more than ten feet away from him.) Hacking the ship's navigational system is easier this time around.</p>
<p>The first thing he does, once he has regained control, is to disable the alarm.</p>
<p>By the stars, he's never quite realised how utterly unnerving the computer generated sound is.</p>
<p>He's barely given enough time to take a single, relieved breath of filtered air before the ship is breaking through the planet's atmosphere and hurling towards the golden surface.</p>
<p>Hux isn’t a particularly skilled pilot. He's had training, of course, and the occasional refresher course in the simulation pods all First Order personnel are required to take. But those don't prepare a man for a crash landing on a desolate planet, with no runways or any kind of infrastructure worth mentioning in sight.</p>
<p>The impact is painful to say the least, the recoil so severe Hux almost bites off the tip of his own tongue when he's thrown back into the pilot's seat.</p>
<p>Blood begins to fill his mouth but he swallows it down, not bothered by the metallic taste. What's a little more blood, after all?</p>
<p>He grits his teeth and reaches for the control yoke, not batting an eye when a small durasteel box crashes into the viewport right next to his head and dozens of bacta patches burst out into the confined space. The first aid kit he couldn't find earlier, Hux realises with dismay. What bitter irony.</p>
<p>The ship comes to a final halt soon after, leaving Hux with bacta patches in his lap and blood dripping down his chin.</p>
<p>He slumps back into the pilot's seat with a groan, staring out the viewport into a dreary wasteland.</p>
<p>Sand, nothing but sand for miles upon miles, reaching farther than the eye can see. All there is to see is red sand and blue sky, both so blindingly bright they merge into one where they meet at the horizon.</p>
<p>It hits Hux then, the terrifying realisation that he's alive. And that the First Order is gone.</p>
<p>"What now?" he wonders aloud but is met with silence. If the dead know the answer to that question then they don’t care to share their wisdom.</p>
<p>Hux gets up, every bone in his body aching, and drags himself to where Ro's lifeless body is laid out on the floor.</p>
<p>The landing hasn't been kind to Ro, throwing him around the ship like a rag-doll and leaving him in a crumpled heap on the floor.</p>
<p>"Might as well start with you," Hux tells him.</p>
<p>As it turns out, Rigor mortis has yet to set in. If Hux is lucky then it won't for another hour. That would make things decidedly easier.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He spoke too soon. Even striped off his armor, Ro is surprisingly heavy. Or, perhaps, Hux is simply too weak. He has never been physically imposing, despite his height. Not like Ren or Phasma, or even his father. </p>
<p>Tall and lanky, those were the words usually used to describe him. </p>
<p>He growls, disgusted by his own self-pitying thoughts, and drags Ro's body further away from the ship and through the burning sand. Already, vultures are watching him from afar, crowing their amusement as they wait for him to either abandon his dead friend or succumb to the scorching heat himself.</p>
<p>Dressed in nothing but the bodysuit every stormtrooper is obligated to wear underneath the armor, Hux can't fault them for laughing at his misfortune. What a sight he must make: The great Armitage Hux, the Starkiller, stomping through this wasteland with sweat collecting in his armpits and strands of hair sticking to his forehead.</p>
<p>He has no idea where he's going, only careful not to move too far away from the ship, otherwise he’d be lost. All he knows is that he must find the right spot, a fitting final resting place for Ro. It's all he can do to show his gratitude.</p>
<p>Hux pauses, allowing himself a brief reprieve and a sip of water that tastes better than even the rare Corellian whiskey he used to have aboard the Finalizer. </p>
<p>Good thing he was wise enough to take a bottle of water with him. Good thing he was also wise enough to take one of the stretchers from the ship and strapped Ro's body to it. Dragging the stiff corpse of a stormtrooper through the desert may be difficult but it could've been a lot more difficult if not for the stretcher.</p>
<p>Small favours, Hux figures and puts the half-empty bottle away. He needs to be more cautious, it needs to last him for the way back to the ship. And then? What then?</p>
<p>Hux shakes his head, banishing those maudlin thoughts as he takes one determined step forward, only to realise that the sand beneath his feet is shifting. No longer is it the dragging but ultimately solid ground. Instead, it has turned into an avalanche, dragging his body and Ro with him like a tidal wave.</p>
<p>All he manages before he’s going under is one pathetic cry of surprise and then there’s nothing but sand. It’s everywhere: in his eyes, his ears, his nose and mouth; blinding him, suffocating him.</p>
<p>Hux can feel himself falling, down and down until he hits solid ground with a dull thud. Groaning, he lifts himself up to his knees and tries to dust off the fine layer of sand now covering his whole body.</p>
<p>He looks up, blinking more sand out of his eyes though the fine grains are adamant to cling to his lashes.</p>
<p>A sand dune has brought him to his knees. Hux huffs a bitter laugh at the realisation and lets himself fall back into the sand, staring up into the blue sky. Is that all it takes these days? Somebody should've told Kylo Ren.</p>
<p>Groaning, he rolls onto his side, ignoring the pain in his leg that flares up at the motion. He needs to move. He forces himself up on hands and knees, fingers digging through the sand and collecting underneath his fingernails.</p>
<p>"Move," he commands himself. When he opens his eyes, at last, what he sees almost makes him lose his tentative balance.</p>
<p>An AT-AT walker, half-hidden in the sand, it's mechanical body nestled in the curve of another dune, like the picked carcass of a Bantha and invisible from where Hux came. Had he not lost his footing and tumbled down the dune, he wouldn’t have seen it at all.</p>
<p>How long has it lain here, slowly disintegrating underneath the sun, forgotten by the Empire, the Resistance, forgotten by the Galaxy at large?</p>
<p>And what does it matter? It's still here, even after all those years, just waiting for Hux to, quite literally, stumble over it. This is it, Hux knows. This is the place he was looking for.</p>
<p>He scrambles to his feet, dusting sand off his clothes though it's of little use. The sand, it gets everywhere. Nothing to be done about it.</p>
<p>Ro and the stretcher aren't far, the corpse still neatly strapped to the durasteel poles. Hux starts to dig.</p>
<p>It’s ungrateful work, the sand slipping through his fingers like water whenever he tries to dig a hole. He hasn't brought a shovel; he's a fool. And time is running out, he knows. The vultures have already moved closer, their incessant chatter growing louder. They're growing impatient. Not long and they will abandon all caution and claim what they think is theirs by right: dead meat.</p>
<p>Hux shovels faster, hissing when one of his nails breaks. Lifting his hand to his face, he watches as droplets of blood seep into the sand. How quick this planet is to make him pay the price for his being here. Hux can only hope that this is all it takes, for he has nothing more to give.</p>
<p>By the time he has finished digging a deep enough hole, the sun is low on the horizon, bathing everything in a pink light that transforms the forlorn desert in a place like out of a dream.</p>
<p>Hux allows himself no time to appreciate the magical shift. Soon, the sun will go down completely and then he'll either be back on his ship or freeze to death. He knows which of the two he prefers.</p>
<p>Mobilising all his remaining strength, he hauls Ro’s body to the makeshift grave. It takes him much longer than anticipated to lower it into the dug-up hole and longer still to close it again.</p>
<p>It's a sad grave, nondescript and unworthy of a man like Ro, Hux knows that much, but it's better than nothing. It's better than what his comrades got after being torn apart by the blasters and blades of the Lothalites. It's all Hux can give him.</p>
<p>"I will be back," he promises, staring at the little mount of sand, the only indication that underneath lies the man Hux owes his life.</p>
<p>"And I will take back what should've been mine. Just so you wait. And then you shall have a proper burial. A proper grave. I promise."</p>
<p>And Hux, he always keeps his promises.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take long until the exhaustions of the day start to take a toll on him, now that the deed is done and his body is allowed to rest. Hux can feel himself slip away, his sight blurring and his muscles spasming, refusing to do any more work.</p>
<p>"Not here," he mumbles, speaking to himself. He can't fall asleep here.</p>
<p>But neither will he be able to make it back to the ship; not before night falls.</p>
<p>Forcing his body to obey, he gets up on his feet and looks around him with heavy eyes.</p>
<p>The AT-AT. He doubts its temperature regulators are still working after all those years but the thick durasteel hull might be enough to hold off the worst of the desert cold. He only has to survive one night, he reasons. Then he can return to his own ship, in hopes that the scavengers of this world won’t get there before him and take what little he has left.</p>
<p>The last rays of sunshine have just disappeared beyond the horizon when Hux stumbles into the AT-AT, having slipped in through an unlocked hatch on the belly of the beast.</p>
<p>His eyes are slow to adapt and as he stumbles through the darkness he doesn't hit his toes once but twice on corners that seem to grow out of thin air.</p>
<p>Soon, he's relying on his hands more than on his eyes to make it deeper into the bowels, crawling on all fours like an animal. </p>
<p>It's merely another indignity he has no choice to endure. At the very least, nobody is here to witness him and to delight in his misfortune.</p>
<p>A soft cling as he hits something with his knees pulls him out of his gloomy thoughts and he looks between his legs, only to find a pair of googles, dust-covered and with a crack in one of the glasses, but in otherwise good condition.</p>
<p>Picking up the goggles, Hux sits up, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured leg and examines his unexpected find as best he can in the dim light.</p>
<p>The goggles themselves are unremarkable, the flashlight crudely attached to them with mesh tape however, is not.</p>
<p>Holding his breath, Hux flips the switch and almost cries out in relief when sudden light floods the AT-AT.</p>
<p>His relief is short-lived. It takes but one look for Hux to realise that this AT-AT isn't just another decaying machine:</p>
<p>It's somebody's home, the signs of living undeniable.</p>
<p>There's a dried desert flower in a rusty engine piece balancing precariously on the corner of a make-shift table. A rough, stuffed doll, made from what looks like a Rebellion's pilot's flight suit and twine. A makeshift bed, built out of untreated wood and covered in animal pelts.</p>
<p>Most damning proof of this being the dwelling of another being though, is the rusty wall, covered in marks. Thousands of them adorn the metal, one for each day no doubt. An endless line that inevitably invokes a feeling of desperation in Hux.</p>
<p>Who used to dwell here?</p>
<p>Or, Hux thinks as he rounds another corner, who still dwells here?</p>
<p>Was he intruding? Trespassing one somebody's property? An unwelcome guest who'd soon be discovered and dealt with accordingly?</p>
<p>He's in no condition to fight: exhausted from digging Ro's grave and dizzy from the heat. Should it come to a fight, he’s bound to lose.</p>
<p>But nobody is coming to lay claim to this...humble abode, the corridors of the AT-AT are empty, filled only with the echoes of Hux's own clumsy steps.</p>
<p>Perhaps the owners are gone for just the night, perhaps they're gone forever. Hux can only hope for the latter. The dust collecting on every surface seems to suggest so.</p>
<p>He drags one finger over what seems to be a makeshift wok, scrunching up his nose when dust and sand particles turn the tip of his finger grey.</p>
<p>Then again, this is a desert. Without a cleaning droid it would take no more than a single day for the sand to creep into every nook and cranny.</p>
<p>What choice does he have? He can't return to his own ship, not until dawn. Might as well try and get some rest, he will certainly need it. And if, by luck or cruel faith, he's still alive tomorrow morning then he'll have more than enough time to worry about what to do next. A whole lifetime of it.</p>
<p>He doesn't take off the bodysuit, only his boots, before he crawls underneath the heavy pelts smelling of must and grease.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Strength</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His dreams have become humbler. These days he dreams of his father's easy laugh and his mother's gentle eyes. He dreams of the girl reaching out to him through the Force. And he knows it's just a dream because in reality she has moved on already, his death no reason for mourning. He no longer feels her bound to him in the Force.</p><p>He dreams of what once was his, of red banners flapping in the wind and loyal soldiers saluting when he stalks past them. He dreams of rows upon rows of stormtroopers awaiting his command, their armor ruby red. And, strangest of all, he dreams of Hux, of his fire-touched hair and disapproving gaze. How pleased he'd be, could he see Ren now, beaten and alone.</p><p>"Nothing," he tells Pip and gets up. "I dream of nothing."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At last, the sixth chapter! I have to apologise for the long break but I had a guest over the other week and couldn't find the time to edit and upload this chapter. Hope you can forgive me.</p><p>Thanks again for all of you who left comments, gave kudos and klicked on this fic. You're the best!</p><p>And a special shout-out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> for whipping this chapter into shape!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>VI. Strength</strong>
</p><p><br/><br/><br/><br/>Pip does their duty and wakes him at dawn, bringing with them a bowl of thin soup and half a loaf of grey bread, as well as bottled water.</p><p>It's a simple meal but filling and that's all Ren can ask for. He takes his time, chewing carefully before swallowing. It's been a while since he last had food not prepared by a droid and pressed into neat, little ration bars. The difference in texture is startling, so very far away from the smooth meals served aboard the Steadfast, not engineered to be tasteful but easily digestible. </p><p>"You like it?"</p><p>Kylo looks up, nibbling on a piece of bread he dipped into the soup.</p><p>He considers ignoring Pip and their incessant questions but, in the end, relents with a huff. The child is stubborn, Ren has learned that already, and they won't stop pestering him until they have their answer; easier to indulge Pip now and spare himself a headache.</p><p>"It's passable," Ren grumbles, before taking another bite.</p><p>Despite his less than enthusiastic appraisal, Pip seems pleased.</p><p>"My mom made it, an old family recipe. The ingredients are hard to come by, barely anything grows here, you know, but my mom managed. She has a little greenhouse. Do you want to see it?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>Pip's face falls, if only for a second before their usual sunny disposition returns tenfold, as if it has to make up for the sting of disappointment that came with Ren's rejection.</p><p>"That's fine! Pa told me to show you the training grounds anyway. Guess that's more up your alley, huh?"</p><p>"Do you have a sonic?"</p><p>Pip pauses, their expression shifting once more, into one of mild annoyance.</p><p>"Kriff, are you always this surly in the mornings?" They huff, pressing their tiny fists into their side and sticking their chin out. "We don't have a sonic but there's clean water, thanks to you, and we have a tub."</p><p>"A tub?" Ren echoes, one dark eyebrow raised.</p><p>Pip turns on their heels, leaving the room with a skip in their steps and motioning for Ren to follow with a wave of their hand.</p><p>The basin Pip was talking about is located in a small shed behind the house, no bigger than the inside of his TIE fighter and similarly uncomfortable.</p><p>"I'll get you some water, hope you don't mind that it's cold."</p><p>Pip is gone before Ren can protest, leaving the door to the shed wide open. Ren doesn't bother to close it. He's not concerned about his virtue. There are more pressing matters at hand. He's reeking, of sweat and ashes and death. When was the last time he had the luxury of a sonic? He can't remember.</p><p>Holding his breath, he pulls off the tattered sweater and tosses it aside. His boots and socks follow swiftly. Though when he reaches down to unbutton his trousers, he hesitates.</p><p>There, right above the hem, sits the scar left by his own lightsaber. Frowning, Ren brushes over the raised edges, examining the shape and texture of them closely. The spiderly thin lines spreading outwards surround a circle of tender flesh and make it look like an exploding star. A supernova etched into his skin.</p><p>It's the only scar he has left, the others the girl has healed. Unknowingly or on purpose, Ren can't say. The motives behind her actions have always eluded him. Perhaps she has left this one as a reminder, a warning.</p><p>She shouldn't have bothered.</p><p>He needs no scar to be reminded of what he has done and the price he had to pay: His own burning flesh, he can still smell it, sizzling as his lightsaber cuts through skin and flesh. The stench of it is unmistakable, so similar to the smell that follows him wherever he goes, ever since the day he killed Han Solo.</p><p>"Pfask, these are heavy!"</p><p>Torn from his thoughts, Ren whirls around to see Pip stumbling back into the shed, struggling to carry two buckets filled with murky water.</p><p>Ren takes both buckets off Pip's hands without asking.</p><p>"It's cold, I fear," Pip tells him, flexing their fingers until the blood starts to flow again and the white flesh turns a healthier shade of pink.</p><p>"The boiler, you might have guessed it, isn't working either."</p><p>Ren snorts. Of course.</p><p>"It doesn't matter," he tells them as he empties the buckets into the wooden tub. There are flecks of dirt swimming on the surface of the water, despite the newly repaired filter. He might have to take another look at it. "Is there soap at least?"</p><p>Pip perks up. "Oh yes! My mom told me to give you this."</p><p>They pull a piece of coarse soap out from underneath their tunic, presenting it to Ren with a glimmer of triumph in their big eyes.</p><p>"She made it herself," Pip explains when Ren makes no move to take the offered soap.</p><p>Out of animal fat and wood ashes, no doubt. Ren takes the soap with some hesitation, examining it closely before setting it aside on a wooden crate.</p><p>"Give her my thanks."</p><p>He turns away from Pip, done with pleasantries, and unbuttons his trousers.</p><p>"You look very strong!"</p><p>Ren stills, bent over, with his trousers bunched around his knees. The child is still here.</p><p>He throws Pip a look over his shoulder, eyes blazing with annoyance, which, unfortunately, doesn't deter Pip.</p><p>"Like, you're really broad. And muscular. And tall!"</p><p>And currently down to his underwear, desperate for a shower but cursed with an obnoxious child that, somehow, doesn't fear him.</p><p>He takes off his trousers and chucks them at Pip who catches them easily. They have good reflexes, Ren has to give them that.</p><p>"Take these to your mother. To clean."</p><p>Pip stands there, still not leaving, their eyes darting back and forth between Ren and something behind him.</p><p>"What about your shirt?"</p><p>Ren throws the sweater at them as well. He’s half tempted to do the same with his underwear but Pip, either fed up with his behaviour or sensing his intentions, is out of the door before Ren can do so.</p><p>Pip wasn’t lying when they warned Ren that the water would be cold. It’s freezing and even he, who’s no stranger to hurried baths in forest lakes and quick-running rivers during his teenage years, can’t suppress the shiver running up his spine when he sinks into it.</p><p>The tub is too small for his broad frame, forcing him to pull his legs up to his chin and making him feel even more like a child. Grumbling, he makes a grab for the bar of soap Pip has left him.</p><p>It doesn’t take long until the water turns from a murky grey into a sludgy brown as he washes the dust and dirt of several days off, furiously scrubbing at his skin.</p><p>When was the last time he felt clean? Without streaks of mud and grime crusting his face and the blood of his enemies drying beneath his fingertips?</p><p>He doesn’t know.</p><p>There are, he realises with distaste, far too many things he doesn’t know.</p><p>He was alone when he awoke from dreamless sleep; the girl gone; Palpatine gone, his worshippers buried beneath rubble and soil.</p><p>Clenching his fist, he watches as his knuckles turn white. He’s died. He’s certain of it and yet here he is, stranded on Exegol, dependent on the mercy of peasants, selling his skills and knowledge in exchange for stale bread and tainted water as if he were a common mercenary.</p><p>“Mom says she’ll try her best but better not to get your hopes up.”</p><p>Ren nearly jumps, the water dangerously close to spilling over the rim as he turns and glares at Pip.</p><p>Pip, who's standing in the doorway with an apologetic smile on their face and a bundle of clothes in their hands; clothes that are definitely not Ren's.</p><p>"She gave me these for you to wear. They're my dad's but don't fit him anymore. Too big."</p><p>Not caring for his own nudity, Ren gets up and steps out of the tub.</p><p>The clothes Pip brought him are old but well-cared for, patched up in places and with some of the seams reinforced with sturdier thread. They're simple garments, laughably so when compared to his own, tailored tunic or the fine gabberwool coats officers of the First Order wear, but they will do.</p><p>The wide-cut trousers made from scratchy linen are too short, ending right above his ankles, and the cream coloured tunic is gaping at his chest, but there's no point in complaining.</p><p>Ren puts his boots back on last, frowning when his still wet feet get stuck halfway through.</p><p>Exegol is truly testing his already limited patience.</p><p>It's a good thing then, that he's about to teach a bunch of peasants what it means to be trained by the most powerful Force-User the galaxy has ever seen.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>As it turns out, the training ground is only such in name.</p><p>The place Pip leads him to after Ren manages to wrestle his boots into submission is a glorified dumping ground at best, overgrown with gnarly roots and littered with waste. There’s what Ren assumes is a shooting range: nothing more than a strip of well-trodden soil and a few empty bottles somebody has lined up as targets, and a ramshackle shed containing who knows what horrors.</p><p>"What is this?" Ren hisses, glaring at Pip as if they could be blamed for the pitiful state of the place.</p><p>Pip shrugs.</p><p>"If we had proper training grounds then we wouldn't need your help, now would we?"</p><p>Ren says nothing, realising that Pip is right. Too proud to admit it he goes to inspect a rack of makeshift weapons hidden away in a far corner instead: wooden sticks with one end sharpened, a few vibroblades older than Ren himself judging by their design, daggers with blades so blunt he doubts they'd be able to cut through butter let alone flesh and bone.</p><p>Taking one of the vibroswords, Ren throws Pip a disbelieving look.</p><p>"That’s it? Wooden sticks and scrap metal?"</p><p>Pip's lips pull into a pout.</p><p>"I don't see you carrying around any proper weapons."</p><p>Indeed, he's still unarmed. His lightsaber is gone, given up willingly. He has no right to judge.</p><p>"Your father," Ren says instead, trying to sound placating, "he used to be a soldier, or so you said. Does he not own weapons?"</p><p>"I don't know," Pip mumbles, annoyed. "Pa doesn't like talking about his time as a soldier. I don't think he liked it much."</p><p>Ren huffs a humourless laugh, swinging his rusty vibrosword in a wide arch. The balance is off and the blade itself not entirely straight but at least the ultrasonic vibration generator is still working.</p><p>"Consider yourself lucky then," he says. "Men who don't tire of recounting their own deeds make for bad company."</p><p>You used to like it, a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispers. Begged Han Solo to tell you the stories of his adventures over and over again, until you'd fall asleep in the man's arms or his voice gave out.</p><p>"Oh! That was awesome! Can you show me how to do that?"</p><p>Ren blinks, the grip on his sword tightening before he remembers where he is.</p><p>"I could," he says and Pip's expression brightens. "But I won't. I'm here to teach your father's men, not his children."</p><p>Pip opens their mouth, no doubt to argue, but is quick to close it again when something behind Ren catches their eye.</p><p>“Father!”</p><p>Ren whirls around, sword still in hand. He spots Pip’s father immediately, the man slowly walking up on the only path leading up to the training ground. Following him is a small group of men and women, dressed in greys and browns, their expression indiscernible from this distance.</p><p>Ren doesn’t need to be told that these are the people he is supposed to train.</p><p>"That's all of them?" he scoffs once the group has come close enough to hear him, teeth bared in a snarl as he takes in the handful of people gathered around him.</p><p>"For now," Pip's father assures him. "What you'll teach them, they will, in return, teach others. But those are the only ones with some experience, either with the blaster or a sword. Let me introduce you."</p><p>The group is as ragtag as it is pathetic.</p><p>Melas, a cattle farmer, the only one in the village, his days spent taking care of only two Nerfs, the creatures too stubborn to die in this barren land.</p><p>Then there's Ermen, an herb-wife, her only experience with a blade cutting what little herbs and roots can be found on Exegol.</p><p>Gera and Vik are twins, no older than eighteen and full of the folly only possessed by the young. They consider themselves gunslingers merely because they like taking turns shooting at lizards and other critters with the blaster they stole from their father.</p><p>Like Pip, Mylan is a scavenger and deft with a hydrospanner but possessing no other talents worth mentioning. </p><p>Ren sees all this and more as he brushes the most shallow depths of their minds. He scoffs.</p><p>"Take up your weapons."</p><p>They're the first words he speaks to them, bored already by their presence and the insecurities they're unknowingly projecting, clouding the air like day-old sweat.</p><p>None of them move.</p><p>"Well?" Ren growls, eyes flashing in irritation.</p><p>"W-which ones?" Ermen asks, apparently the only one of the group with the guts to open her mouth and speak up.</p><p>"Whichever you think will give you the best chance of killing me. Now go!"</p><p>They scatter like roaches exposed to sunlight, tripping over themselves in their haste to snatch the weapon least corroded by rust.</p><p>"Attack!" Ren commands them, opening his arms in obvious invitation.</p><p>Mylan is the first to charge at him.</p><p>Ren doesn't even have to move to evade the choppy swing aimed at his head. He merely has to lean to the side.</p><p>"Attack like you mean it," he barks at Mylan and takes a single step forward. It’s enough to have the scavenger almost lose their tentative hold on the vibroblade he was lucky enough to claim.</p><p>"Like you want to kill me!" Ren snaps. "Like I'm one of those Sith Fanatics you fear. Like I've come to destroy everything you hold dear, leaving nothing but burning ashes in my wake. Like I've come to kill your wife, your beautiful little daughter. Like I've come to slaughter her like an animal, cutting her throat and watching as she chokes on her own blood-"</p><p>Gera and Vik come at him with their primitive spears raised and fury burning in their eyes.</p><p>He parades their attacks, sending Gera to the ground with one swift kick in the back when he stumbles past Ren.</p><p>"You're dead," he tells Gera, the tip of his vibrosword pricking the soft underside of the boy's chin.</p><p>His twin launches at him with a hoarse cry that elicits an amused smirk from Ren.</p><p>Vik too finds himself in the dust a moment later, sent flying by a fist to his unprotected stomach.</p><p>"Pathetic!" Ren hisses, glaring at the rest of them, standing there wide-eyed and quivering, holding onto their own weapons like children onto their mothers' coat-tails.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Ren can see Gera and Vik help up a wheezing Mylan.</p><p>They fear him, he can feel it in the Force, see it in their watery eyes. They fear him but not only that. Already, they've also started to hate him.</p><p>Good. Hate is good.</p><p>"Now use your brains and attack all at once," he commands. "Use your numbers to your advantage."</p><p>"Shouldn't you teach us the basics first?" Ermen interrupts him. "Most of us barely know how to hold a blaster. How are we supposed to beat you?"</p><p>Not for the first time, Ren is tempted to use the Force; show these people what happens to those who dare defy him.</p><p>He resists the urge. Barely.</p><p>"You do as I say or you will learn nothing at all," he snaps. "Now attack!"</p><p>Ermen isn't wrong, not entirely. There are basics and Ren does intend to teach them but first he needs to see if these people have the potential to kill, the will and determination to strike him down.</p><p>After all, what point is there in training soldiers not willing to kill?</p><p>"Hesitate now," he tells Melas when the man falters at the very last moment, aiming his dagger at Ren's shoulder instead of his throat, "and it will end with you on your back. Hesitate on the battlefield and it will end with you impaled on a blade."</p><p>"How long-" Melas gasps for air. "How long are we going to do this?"</p><p>Ren smashes the pommel of his vibrosword into his face, hard enough to have him tumble backwards.</p><p>"Until one of you manages to land a single hit. And once you've done that-"</p><p>He pauses to take in the exhausted faces of his students, the curve of his mouth taking on a cruel edge.</p><p>"-I might consider using my dominant hand."<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>He allows them to go home when what little sunlight there is on Exegol has disappeared and inky black night has descended upon them.</p><p>Every single one of them, without exception, is battered and bruised. And every single one of them, without exception, wants to see him dead.</p><p>Their thoughts are a roiling sea during a thunderstorm and Ren bathes in it, in their crushing contempt.</p><p>They'll be back again tomorrow, eager to put him in his place, to bring him to his knees.</p><p>They'll make good apprentices.</p><p>"None of them landed a hit," Pip says as they join Ren on the ledge of a hill overlooking the training ground, an activated glowrod dangling from their belt.</p><p>"Is that disappointment I hear?" Ren asks.</p><p>"Yeah," Pip admits without hesitation and hands him a small flask filled with water.</p><p>Ren empties it in two gulps.</p><p>"I thought they'd have a small chance at least," Pip muses. "Gera and Vi took me to shoot skreerats once, I thought they were pretty good."</p><p>"Then they should've picked the blasters, not the spears."</p><p>Pip seems to think this over, their head tilted back in what Ren has come to recognise as their thinker pose, before shrugging.</p><p>"Well, they've never been the brightest."</p><p>Ren huffs. An understatement.</p><p>"You hungry?” Pip asks next, the twins and their failure already forgotten.</p><p>They pull what looks like flatbread and cured meat out of their bag and offer half of it to Ren.</p><p>"No," he says at the very same time his stomach releases a rolling grumble, loud enough to echo in the silent night.</p><p>Pip raises a brow but says nothing, simply waits until Ren takes the offered food and begins to eat.</p><p>The bread is more flavourful this time, with crispy edges and a soft inside. It goes well with the salty meat and within seconds, Ren has wolfed it all down.</p><p>"You trained them all day, I knew you'd be hungry," Pip explains, unprompted.</p><p>They smile at him, pride making their face glow like a ripe shuura fruit.</p><p>"You used your brain, impressive indeed," Ren mumbles, wiping his grease-covered fingers clean on the borrowed trousers.</p><p>"You should've let me train with them," Pip tells him, unbothered it seems, by his insult disguised as a compliment.</p><p>"Should I?" he muses, only half-listening. </p><p>Exegol's nights, they don’t differ much from its days and yet Ren feels as if a silence even graver than that of death has settled over the planet. Something in the galaxy had shifted, a balance restored or disturbed, he cannot say. All he knows is that the scales have tipped but not in whose favours.</p><p>The universe is holding its breath waiting, waiting, waiting for the inevitable.</p><p>"Yes," Pip insists, shifting their weight from one side to the other. "I can take care of myself, you know that."</p><p>Ren scoffs. "You're a child."</p><p>"I'm only five years younger than the twins!"</p><p>"And the twins left with broken noses and bruised ribs each today. And they can count themselves lucky for that."</p><p>More than once Ren could've cut them down where they stood, their defenses practically non-existent and leaving them vulnerable to his attacks.</p><p>He turns to look at Pip, at their youthful profile dimly illuminated by the glowrod, and finds their dried-out lips are pulled into a pout.</p><p>"Why are you so eager to die?" Ren asks them but is met with stony silence.</p><p>"Fear not," he assures Pip. "You'll get your chance at a heroic death sooner or later, when those Sith Fanatics come to lay waste to this little village of yours."</p><p>With Palpatine gone, without his power to keep them at bay gone, it will only be a matter of time. They will come and they will destroy, killing every breathing thing not quick enough to flee their blades. And once there's nothing more left to kill, they'll turn against each other like the mindless beasts they are, caring only for blood but not whose it is.</p><p>"That's why I need to learn how to fight," Pip bursts out. "So that I can protect my family and friends! I want to be a fighter, like my father!"</p><p>And what a noble goal that is. Ren heaves a sigh.</p><p>"I want them to be proud of me!" Pip insists when he remains silent. "That's all I ever wanted, all I ever dreamed of!"</p><p>"Is that not every child's dream?" Ren asks. "Until they grow up and know better?"</p><p>He can't see Pip's face and he doesn't bother to turn and look at them but he can imagine: flushed with indignation, the eyes wet with tears they refuse to shed.</p><p>"And your dreams are so much better?" Pip challenges, voice tight with hurt. "What do you dream of?"</p><p>Once upon a time, he dreamed of power, of a throne and all of the galaxy kneeling to his feet.</p><p>Once he dreamed of surpassing all those who came before him.</p><p>Once he dreamed of the vastness of the universe and how he'd be the first to unlock all its secrets.</p><p>But his dreams have become humbler. These days he dreams of his father's easy laugh and his mother's gentle eyes. He dreams of the girl reaching out to him through the Force. And he knows it's just a dream because in reality she has moved on already, his death no reason for mourning. He no longer feels her bound to him in the Force.</p><p>He dreams of what once was his, of red banners flapping in the wind and loyal soldiers saluting when he stalks past them. He dreams of rows upon rows of stormtroopers awaiting his command, their armor ruby red.</p><p>And, strangest of all, he dreams of Hux, of his fire-touched hair and disapproving gaze.</p><p>How pleased he'd be, could he see Ren now, beaten and alone.</p><p>"Nothing," he tells Pip and gets up. "I dream of nothing."</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>"Kriffing hells!"</p><p>Hux knew it would be only a matter of time until the vultures came, eager to pick the crashed ship and its cargo apart.</p><p>What he didn't expect when he returned to his ship the following morning with the sun still low and not quite so blistering, was for a group of jawa scavengers to have already made off with most of the stored cargo and the ship's hyperdrive core.</p><p>"Get your filthy hands off my ship!" he roars at them, giving one blaster shot as a warning.</p><p>The aliens jump in surprise, chattering excitedly between them and hissing at Hux.</p><p>He doesn't speak their language but he knows when he's being ridiculed.</p><p>The jawas don't fear him. Loading up more crates full with medical supplies onto a primitive carriage pulled by two bleating gill-goats, the aliens remain utterly unimpressed with him and his little display of attempted intimidation.</p><p>He shoots two of them before they can do so much as blink.</p><p>The remaining four stare in shocked silence as their companions crumble to the ground, the holes in their chest left by the blaster shot still smoking.</p><p>Then all hell breaks loose.</p><p>Hux barely makes it behind an overturned crate the jawas have left lying in the desert sand—empty of course—before they open fire.</p><p>Cursing violently under his breath, Hux crawls closer to the edge of the crate. Shooting the two jawas: what a lapse in judgement, an action so utterly impulsive it would've made Kylo Ren proud!</p><p>Sticking his head out just far enough to look over the edge of the crate, he narrowly avoids a blaster bolt to the head.</p><p>This is not how he had envisioned his morning to go.</p><p>Taking a fortifying breath, he fires another round before falling back behind his provisional shield.</p><p>Foolish! It was foolish to leave the cargo ship; to drag Ro's corpse through the desert out of some misguided sense of obligation. Foolish and dangerously sentimental.</p><p>And now he's paying the price for his lapse in judgement. He--</p><p>He stills, shoving his self-pitying thoughts aside, and forces himself to listen.</p><p>There's only silence. No blaster bolts are cutting through the air with a sharp hiss. No high-pitched chatter is grating on his nerves.</p><p>Fearing the worst, Hux jumps to his feet, all caution thrown to the wind. And finds himself alone.</p><p>The jawas are gone. And with them most of the cargo. All they've left behind are the corpses of their former comrades.</p><p>Hux huffs a dry laugh. No such sentimentalities as wanting to bury their dead was holding them back, it seems.</p><p>The jawas were practical and, unsurprisingly, thorough. When Hux inspects the ship, or what's left of it, he finds not a single corner left unsearched, not a single crate left unopened. Nosy bastards.</p><p>That Hux finds anything of value at all—a few bacta patches and similar equipment—is solely due to the fact that he has interrupted them in the middle of their haul.</p><p>It's not much but it's better than nothing.</p><p>The ship itself is unsalvageable. Not only have they taken the hyperdrive core—ripped it right off its brackets, leaving only a few dangling cables—they have also taken the flux converters and the turbothrust converter coilt. Not even the outer durasteel plating of the ship has been safe from their greedy hands.</p><p>There's nothing left but a hollowed out husk, a bare skeleton of a ship. It's not going to get him off this planet anytime soon. He's stuck, stranded in the middle of nowhere, a castaway drifting on a dry sea.</p><p>He falls down to his knees, hands sinking into the sand, the fine particles agitating the numerous blisters on his fingers, and he screams. He screams and screams and screams. Until his voice cracks and he chokes on the burning air.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>The Crolute eyes him with calculated interest, his piggish eyes peeking out from behind his barred shop window like an Andoan blobfish.</p><p>It's a curious thing, to stumble upon a Crolute of all people on a planet such as this: quite literally a fish out of water.</p><p>Hux would've appreciated the irony of it more if it hadn't mirrored his own unfortunate circumstances so closely.</p><p>"One half-portion," the alien grumbles, slamming a plastifilm-sealed ration back of dehydrated polystarch and veg-meat onto the counter of his concession stand.</p><p>Hux scrunches up his nose at the sight.</p><p>Not because the thought of eating this meagre meal offends him—the First Order issues such and similar ration packs for their own troops—but because the Crolute clearly thinks he could steal Hux blind.</p><p>"Half a portion?" he hisses, returning the Crolute's watery gaze with unconcealed fury gleaming in his eyes. "This is a power compensator in excellent condition, worth far more than any of the junk I can see collecting dust in this little junkyard of yours. Ten portions or nothing."</p><p>The Crolute leans back and crosses his massive arms over his equally massive chest, his expression shifting from one of annoyance to faint amusement.</p><p>Behind him, Hux can hear the other scavengers getting impatient. Their hushed whispers, the nervous shuffling of feet, not much longer until they decide the stranger in front of them has haggled long enough. Either take what the Crolute offers or leave.</p><p>"It may be worth what you say it is," the Crolute allows, undoubtedly considering himself magnanimous, "and you're free to leave and find another buyer willing to pay your price."</p><p>Hux's face falls. Of course, the demand determined the price and the only person even considering to trade this little piece of tech is standing before him and laughing at his naivety.</p><p>The Crolute picks up the compensator, taking his sweet time to examine it, much like a sommelier might examine a rare vintage. He even goes so far as to sniff at the durasteel coating.</p><p>"But you're lucky, rookie. First Order tech is high in demand right now. Collector’s value."</p><p>Snorting a laugh—the sound reminiscent of somebody blowing their nose using a paper tissue—the alien levels their gaze at Hux, who instinctively pulls the shawl wrapped around his head deeper into his face.</p><p>"Two portions." The Crolute slams three more half-portions down onto the counter. "Take it or leave already. I have other customers."</p><p>It's still far less than what the compensator is worth but Hux knows when it's time to count his losses and move on.</p><p>He nods and takes the ration packs without another word.</p><p>Two portions, he thinks grimly as he makes his way back through the busy outpost, past the stands of the many vendors loudly proclaiming their wares and past the many scavengers sorting through their pitiful loot of the day.</p><p>They seem busy enough but Hux is no fool. He can feel their curious eyes on him, only looking when his back is turned.</p><p>He has ditched the stormtrooper armor, of course. It would've been too hot to wear in this climate even if it hadn't outed him as a member of the First Order at first glance.</p><p>Instead, he's wearing merely the black jumpsuit that troopers wear underneath their armor and over it a colourful assortment of rags he found in a rusty drawer back in his new dwellings.</p><p>It's a cheap disguise, admittedly, but with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back it was all he could do. </p><p>There were other clothes hidden at the bottom of the drawer, neatly folded though obviously old and long forgotten: a pair of trousers, a light tunic, a pair of surprisingly soft leather boots. All of it too small to fit Hux. A woman's clothes, no doubt. Perhaps he could sell those, trade them for more food and water and then-</p><p>He falters. </p><p>Then what? </p><p>What little he could salvage from the cargo ship will only last him for so long. Very soon he'll have traded everything of value for some breadcrumbs and water. And once that moment comes it’d do well to be prepared.</p><p>"Ah, that's a face I've seen before."</p><p>Hux freezes, eyes going wide as he looks up, searching for the owner of that unfamiliar voice, fingers twitching with the desire to pull the blaster hidden underneath his wide cowl and run.</p><p>Standing before him is a human woman, older than him by many years, her skin stretching over her face like dried out leather. Gaunt, Hux would describe her, frail even if not for the sure grip with which she holds onto the heavy bag slung over her shoulder.</p><p>Her eyes are the colour of the stormy sea and twinkling with a keen intelligence, but not with the spark of recognition she had so boldly claimed.</p><p>She doesn't know him. His secret is safe. But why then, would she say something like this?</p><p>Adjusting his hood so it may not slide off his head and reveal his red hair, he takes a step back, an eyebrow raised in question.</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>The woman's lips part in a toothless smile.</p><p>"That face,” she explains, “all the newcomers make that face when dealing with Unkar Plutt for the first time."</p><p>So his more or less successful attempts at haggling have aroused more attention than he thought. And to add insult to injury, it appears that he also managed to out himself as a foreigner within the span of a day.</p><p>"What makes you think I'm new here?"</p><p>The woman gives him a look.</p><p>"Fine," he admits, itching to run a hand through his hair in frustration and only aborting the motion at the last second, remembering his disguise. "But I don't plan on staying."</p><p>She waves him off.</p><p>"Oh my dear boy, that one I've heard before as well."</p><p>He's about to protest—What does she know of him and his plans, after all?—when something bumps into him.</p><p>Stumbling back, he looks down and is surprised to find a droid, not unlike the mouse droids that used to roam the hallways of the Star Destroyers in the First Order, at his feet.</p><p>The little thing is eager to hurt him, judging from the ferocity with which it drives itself against Hux's shins.</p><p>"Ah! I'm sorry!" </p><p>The woman, who has still not introduced herself, is quick to reach out and pull the droid to her side. </p><p>"I don't know why he does that. He used to be such a sweet, little thing, but these last few days..."</p><p>Hux levels a look at the droid, not bothering to hide his doubtful expression.</p><p>"Maybe something's wrong with his behaviour core," she goes on, barely able to keep the droid—that shouts at Hux in binary—in check. "He's not the youngest anymore and those things tend to have an expiration date."</p><p>"Does it have a name?" Hux asks, interrupting her incessant chattering.</p><p>Caught off-guard by his demanding tone, she stutters out an answer.</p><p>"Rex."</p><p>Giving a brisk nod, Hux goes down on his knees, coming eye-to-photoreceptor with the droid.</p><p>"Now this might be a little uncomfortable," he warns the beeping thing, "but I'll do my best to make it quick."</p><p>Grabbing the mouse droid, he flips it over before it has a chance to escape or, even worse, tries to stun him with its built-in multi-tool. Much to the shock of both the droid and the owner if the scandalised gasp from the woman and the indignant beeps of the droid are anything to go by.</p><p>There, on the underside of what would constitute a belly in a living creature is the hatch he’s looking for and just underneath, the remote control panel.</p><p>"Just a soft reboot," he explains before punching in the necessary command.</p><p>The droid's angry beeping dies down immediately, replaced by the telltale sounds of the internal system shutting down and coming online again. </p><p>"What are you--"</p><p>Hux silences her with a glare.</p><p>"There," he says, unable to keep the note of smugness out of his voice when he puts the droid down and, instead of trying to break his shinbone, it drives around him in a wide circle, beeping excitedly. "Fixed."</p><p>"You're good with droids," the woman says in the same vexing tone people use when trying to voice their surprise over another person being good with children without wanting to sound rude.</p><p>He's not so much good with droids as he simply knows how they function—a skill that isn't so much beneficial as it’s necessary when you're a young boy locked in your room and all that stands between you and freedom is the nanny droid programmed to obey your father only.</p><p>"It was nothing," Hux insists and gets back up on his feet, dusting the sand off his knees with a slight frown.</p><p>The old woman whistles at that, the sound unexpectedly clear, coming from such old lips.</p><p>"If that was nothing, I'm curious to see what else you can do. You a droid technician?"</p><p>Hux swallows the indignation bubbling up in his throat. He's an engineer, the father of Starkiller Base; he was the one who developed hyperspace tracking. He's not a droid technician.</p><p>But what is that worth in a place such as this? Where it matters little who or what you once were?</p><p>We're all scavengers here, Hux thinks grimly. Nothing more, nothing less.</p><p>He's startled out of his thoughts when the woman offers him her hand, holding it out for him to shake.</p><p>The gesture is so inexplicably jarring, so utterly out of place, Hux's first instinct is to slap it away. He doesn't, stopping himself at the last moment, not keen on becoming known as the stranger who hits defenseless women in the streets.</p><p>"I’m Graia,” she says when Hux says nothing, standing motionless.</p><p>"Do you have a name, boy?"</p><p>She has yet to take her hand away, stubborn as a gill-goat.</p><p>He has a name. No doubt even she, cursed to an empty existence on this forsaken planet, has heard it; has whispered it in the dark, face illuminated by fire, a scary tale to tell the younglings: Starkiller and the destruction of the Hosnian System.</p><p>It's not a name he can say aloud ever again.</p><p>"Well, boy?"</p><p>"Armitage," she tells her, if only so she would finally stop calling him 'boy'.</p><p>For a split second, he fears he must have betrayed himself. Graia's expression darkens and the light in her eyes fades into a dull glimmer, as if something in the depths of her mind has stirred, awakened by the familiar cadence of his name.</p><p>The moment passes as quickly as it has come and all that is left to see in the deep grooves of her face is faint disapproval.</p><p>"My, your parents didn't do you any favours with that kind of name, huh?"</p><p>It's as if a weight has been taken off his shoulders, as if a choking pressure around his throat has lifted and he can breathe once more. Relieved, Hux finds himself returning Graia's cheeky grin with a hesitant smile of his own.</p><p>"They never did," he says, intending these to be his parting words.</p><p>But when he tries to leave the droid, Rex is quick to stop him, rolling in front of Hux's feet and refusing to get out of the way no matter how often Hux adjusts his path.</p><p>"He wants to know where you're going," Graia translates the droid's frantic beeping, as if Hux hasn't already deducted that himself.</p><p>"I don't know how that's any of your business," he tells Rex, once more trying to evade it with little success.</p><p>"The nights are freezing cold out here," Graia points out. "Rex is just worried."</p><p>"There's no need to worry," Hux assures Rex. "I have perfectly adequate lodgings."</p><p>Graia clicks her tongue. How she manages that with barely any teeth left though is beyond Hux.</p><p>"Out in the durasteel graveyard?" she asks. "In one of those old ships?"</p><p>Hux's surprise must show clearly on his face for she merely shakes her head, his puzzled expression all the confirmation she apparently needed.</p><p>"No ship," he argues just for argument's sake. "An AT-AT."</p><p>Recognition flares up in her eyes and she takes a conspiratorial step closer.</p><p>"The one West to the outpost, half hidden by the dunes?"</p><p>Hux's confusion deepens.</p><p>"How--"</p><p>She interrupts him with a careless wave of her hand.</p><p>"It's been abandoned for some time now. People say ghosts haunt that place. People don't dare venture there. Banthacrap if you ask me. I knew the girl that used to live there. Certainly no ghost."</p><p>"Is that so?" Hux mumbles, not bothering to hide the biting sarcasm lacing his words.</p><p>Ghosts and visions and other Force nonsense he has no time for. If the people of this planet avoid his new home due to some primitive, though in this case convenient, superstitions, all the better.</p><p>Graia, not privy to his thoughts, nods.</p><p>"Young, tough as nails but with a tenderness to her that's rare in these parts. We'd sit together sometimes, cleaning our day’s salvage. I never knew where she went or what happened to her. After that First Order attack a few years back she just...vanished."</p><p>She reaches out and puts one hand on his upper arm.</p><p>"Be careful out there, will you? People here are not always nice and newcomers make an easy target."</p><p>Hux eyes her hand with furrowed brows. Gaia’s fingers are long, the skin tanned from long hours spent in the sun, her nails broken from hard work. Despite all that, her touch is warm, comforting even, the touch of a mother.</p><p>"I can take care of myself," Hux assures her.</p><p>She snorts, squeezing his biceps underneath the roughspun cape he's wearing.</p><p>"That's what they all say. Be smarter than them and take advice when it's given to you."</p><p>"Why are you trying to help me?"</p><p>Finally taking her hand off his arm, Graia takes a step back, motioning for her droid to follow.</p><p>"You fixed Rex, didn't you? It's only fair I return the favour.”</p><p>She adjusts her bag, her back bending under the heavy burden, and raises a hand in goodbye. </p><p>"Is it now," Hux mumbles as he threads through the yielding sand, already dreading the journey back to his new home.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>He dreams of death. His own, Pryde's, Ren's. He dreams of burning Star Destroyers and screaming stormtroopers. He dreams of Ro and he dreams of Dr. Adea.</p><p>And strangest of all, he dreams of droids, of the mousey things patrolling the corridors of the First Order, sometimes carrying with them little notes, discreetly taped to their underside by lovestruck officers and which Hux pretended not to know about. He dreams of their distinctive chatter, the almost frantic beeping and whirring.</p><p>It's remarkable how well he remembers this unremarkable sound when other memories far more important are already fading away—he can barely remember Ro's face anymore.</p><p>And then he's startled awake by an unpleasant pinch in his thighs. He almost falls off the makeshift bed, still smelling of dust, when another pinch has his leg cramping up.</p><p>"What--"</p><p>He jolts from the bed, the barely healed wound on his chest aching at the sudden movement, and reaches for the blaster on the durasteel crate that doubles as a bedside table.</p><p>Could it be? Has he already been found? Has Unkar Plutt recognised him after all and sold the secret of Hux's whereabouts to the Resistance?</p><p>Stumbling to his feet, blaster held in one trembling hand, Hux comes face to face with...</p><p>"You're that droid. Rex."</p><p>Standing before him is indeed the old woman's droid, its mechanical joints purring as it drives circles around Hux's feet before nudging at his feet.</p><p>"How did you--?"</p><p>Hux doesn't get to finish that question. Rex interrupts him with a drowned-out beep and rolls away and out of the AT-AT.</p><p>Left with little other choice, Hux follows the excitable thing. If this is an amateurishly planned ploy to lure him outside, then so be it. Trapped in a rusting AT-AT with no more than a blaster as his defense sounds rather unappealing and knowing the Resistance's moral stance on war criminals (which they undoubtedly think he is) Hux has a feeling that they'd rather bring him in alive to make a whole spectacle of his trial.</p><p>Hux huffs a snort as he steps outside, dressed in the black stormtrooper jumpsuit and a pair of boots. Last night, he cut the sleeves off with a sharp piece of scrap metal he found in one of the many nooks and crannies of the AT-AT but that does little to make the stifling heat any more bearable. </p><p>Shielding his eyes from the sun, he pulls himself up to his full height, ready to barter for his life with as much dignity as he has left.</p><p>No bounty hunters are waiting for him, no Resistance commando ready to gun him down the moment he so much as breathes. </p><p>Waiting for him in the Jakku desert are only Rex and another droid of a different model, one of its manipulator arms hanging on by a thread.</p><p>Hux comes to a sudden halt, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as he eyes these two unexpected visitors.</p><p>"What is this?" he demands, pleased when the unknown droid releases a terrified hiss. </p><p>So he can still strike fear into the hearts and circuits of other beings. Good. He may not have lost all that once made him the youngest General the First Order has ever seen. He's still himself.</p><p>Rex on the other hand doesn't seem particularly intimidated by his sharp tone. On the contrary, it gives a joyful beep in greeting and then continues to talk insistently to its apparent friend in rapid binary.</p><p>Their conversation is too fast for Hux to follow but amidst long stretches of unintelligible beeps and boops he can discern two words: Friend and Help.</p><p>A friend? Hux rubs a hand down his already heated face. He's certainly no man's friend. No droid's either, come to think of it and if Rex truly thinks it can come here and bring its droid friends in dire need of repairing to him, then it's sorely mistaken.</p><p>The last thing Hux needs is a constant stream of droids flocking to what is supposed to be his hiding place and drawing unwanted attention.</p><p>Meanwhile, Rex has managed to convince the other droid to come closer and the next thing Hux sees when he looks up are two droids gazing up at him with expectation glimmering in their photoreceptors.  He wasn't aware droids were capable of expressing moods and emotions to such an extent.</p><p>Admitting defeat, he gives an exasperated sigh and turns, heading back inside the significantly cooler AT-AT.</p><p>"Well?" he calls over his shoulder. "I don't have all day and if you want me to have a look at your friend then you should stop wasting my precious time."</p><p>The droid—DA-1, Rex introduces it while Hux is looking for the box of provisional tools he knows he saw lying around last night—is in a pitiful state indead.</p><p>"How did this happen?" Hux asks as he examines the mechanical limb hanging like dead weight from the droid's side.</p><p>DA-1 turns its head away, not willing to look Hux in the eyes or explain how he almost lost such an integral part of itself, it seems.</p><p>Rex doesn't have such compulsions.</p><p>"A bad-tempered administrator, I see," Hux muses as he listens to Rex's heated ranting.</p><p>He makes a grab for the hydrospanner, holding it up for DA-1 to see. "Most of the artificial nerve connections have been cut. I'll have to fix those. Is that alright?"</p><p>The droid looks from Hux to Rex, hesitant in a way that's all too human. Only when Rex gives a firm nod, does DA-1 turn back to meet Hux’s inquiring gaze and utter a soft beep of consent. </p><p>"Believe me, I find such treatments of droids utterly deplorable," Hux tells his patient while carefully reattaching the motion circuits with his hydrospanner. "I used to have a…” He hesitates, unsure how the decidedly vexing relationship with Kylo Ren could best be described. “Let's call him a former colleague with absolutely no regard for any of our expensive technical equipment, including droids."</p><p>DA-1 squeals in terror, their photoreceptor lenses opening and closing with rapid klicks.</p><p>"Like I said, utterly deplorable." Hux clicks his tongue. "Stay still, this is delicate work."</p><p>The droid, once properly chastised, goes rigid but that doesn't mean its curiosity, once awakened, is sated.</p><p>In the same timid tone it used before DA-1 asks about Ren, about what happened to him, as if it's afraid that any second now, Hux's dreaded nemesis would burst through the thick durasteel walls to take his anger out on the terrified droid. </p><p>Ren is no topic Hux is eager to discuss. Rather, he'd prefer to bury the memories of the volatile Force-user and his former co-commander in the deepest recesses of his mind, until they're nothing more than a pale shadow, fuzzy around the edges, hardly tangible anymore.</p><p>He doubts he could ever really forget Ren, the man had a way to stay unforgettable. Interrupting his work, Hux's hand finds its way around his neck, squeezing softly.</p><p>No, he'll never be able to forget Ren, that's for sure.</p><p>"He's dead," he tells the droid, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice.</p><p>Good, DA-1 tells him, whistling in relief. He can not hurt anybody anymore.</p><p>Hux snorts a humourless laugh. Ren may not be able to physically hurt anybody anymore but he sure knows how to torture Hux from the afterlife, refusing to leave his thoughts, his dreams; refusing to let Hux suffer this new and wretched existence in peace.</p><p>"It doesn't matter," Hux says, addressing nobody in particular. "He's gone."</p><p>He finishes his work without another word, only speaking up again after he has put the hydrospanner away and inspecting the reforged connections one last time.</p><p>"Lift it," he instructs DA-1, watching closely as the droid raises its arm and curls its fingers into a tight fist.</p><p>"Very good," Hux mumbles, pleased with himself and his handiwork. "It should hold for now but I'd advise you to find somebody to get some welding work done. I'm not equipped to do that."</p><p>DA-1 nods, too preoccupied with its newly repaired arm to pay Hux much mind.</p><p>Whether the droid decides to heed the advice or not remains to be seen but that shall be none of Hux's concerns.</p><p>He gets up, wincing when his not yet fully healed leg protests the motion.</p><p>"Now is that it?" he asks Rex, hand absentmindedly rubbing over the freshly dressed bandage.</p><p>Rex, so far having been content with watching Hux like a hawk to make sure he wouldn't accidentally hurt its friend, perks up, the small antenna on its top swaying from one side to the other. It rolls over to Hux and, without explanation, unlatches one extra compartment located right beneath its motion sensors.</p><p>A hesitant peek inside reveals a flims-sealed ration similar to those Unkar Plutt sells, as well as a bottle of water and, most importantly, a piece of grainy soap.</p><p>Payment, Rex explains when Hux fails to take the offered goods.</p><p>"Payment?" Hux echoes, staring at the little treasures hidden inside the droid until realisation hits him.</p><p>"Graia sent you."</p><p>Rex beeps as confirmation and, growing impatient, nudges Hux until he, at last, reaches out to take the bacta, the portion and the bar of soap.</p><p>"Well," Hux says, rolling the bottle of filtered water in his palm, "tell her I'm not a mechanic."</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He doesn't know how much time he has already wasted. </p><p>The days on Exegol are long, either melting into one another or stretching out into eternity until one day feels like a lifetime. If he’ll stay much longer Ren is sure that, sooner or later, he'll forget his own name.</p><p>There are days, nights, moments when he’s uncertain whether he's awake or dreaming; uncertain whether the voices he hears are in his head or those of the people around him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys!</p><p>Again, a longer break between chapters than initially planned but when I opened the docs to edit this chapter I realised I pretty much hated it, so I had to rewrite the whole thing which took me forever. Sorry!</p><p>Thanks you, all you darling who took the time to leave comments, gave kudos and klicked on this fic. I love you!</p><p>A special shout-out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> for the beta and the beautiful edit!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>VII. Truth</strong>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know how much time he has already wasted. </p><p>The days on Exegol are long, either melting into one another or stretching out into eternity until one day feels like a lifetime. If he’ll stay much longer Ren is sure that, sooner or later, he'll forget his own name.</p><p>There are days, nights, moments when he’s uncertain whether he's awake or dreaming; uncertain whether the voices he hears are in his head or those of the people around him.</p><p>Though most disconcerting of all, is his insatiable connection to the Force. It’s there, but dimmed and sinking into the depths of the world beyond the physical, an exercise that came to him as natural as breathing once, is now akin to kissing somebody through a veil: muted and unsatisfying.</p><p>Ren knows his father is gone, as is Luke and...his mother. He felt her passing, felt how she became one with the Force to be reunited with her brother, and yet Ren can't find either of them there.</p><p>Frustrated, he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing all thoughts of his mother, his father, of the girl away; until there's nothing left in his head but stark silence and a comforting void.</p><p>Peace at last.</p><p>"You're brooding."</p><p>Ren eyes snap open and his posture stiffens as he spots Pip's father climbing up the steep hill Ren has chosen as his meditation spot.</p><p>When Pip's father—Perik, as he’s called by the villagers—reaches him, he's out of breath and sweat is beading on his forehead. Ren doesn't offer him a sip from his canteen.</p><p>"And you're intruding," Ren points out, not in the mood for company.</p><p>Perik sits down, mirroring Ren's posture by crossing his legs and putting his hands on his knees. For a man his age he's surprisingly limber. And chatty.</p><p>"Far be it for me to interrupt your meditations,” he says by way of apology, “but your pupils, they're worried. You didn't show up when it was time for their training."</p><p>Is it so late already, Ren wonders. Has he been so caught up in his own maudlin thoughts that he missed their daily assembly?</p><p>"I'm sure their worry was rather limited," Ren mumbles dryly.</p><p>As predicted, his small class of students, after having been beaten so viciously by him during their first spar, came crawling back for a rematch the following day and every day thereafter.</p><p>Their determination is commendable and their dislike of him fuels them, but they have yet to beat him in a fight.</p><p>"You think they hate you," Pip's father muses.</p><p>"I know they hate me. They want to see me brought low, which is why they keep coming back."</p><p>Perik shakes his head, eyes alight with keen amusement.</p><p>"They may think you insufferable and I can hardly blame them for that-" he throws Ren a look that he pointedly ignores- "but they also respect you and your prowess in battle."</p><p>"Is that so?"</p><p>Ren cares naught what a handful of peasants think and their begrudging respect holds no meaning for him. He has only ever sought the approval of an illustrious few, none of whom ever deigned to grant it to him:</p><p>His mother and father, who used to love him as much as they feared him, but who never approved of the ways in which he thought to explore his powers.</p><p>Luke, who considered him talented, a prodigy, but who never allowed him to reach his full potential.</p><p>The original Ren, who thought of him merely as a little boy whose curiosity he indulged for his own amusement, until Ben Solo took his life and his name, eradicating the man's entire existence.</p><p>Snoke, being nothing but a puppet held on strings by Palpatine, who had no interest in him beyond his usefulness as a vessel, a tool for his master.</p><p>The Emperor himself, who promised him the galaxy and who cast him aside—quite literally—the moment it became apparent that the scavenger would make a worthier ally.</p><p>Not even those far beneath him ever treated him with the respect he deserved.</p><p>Bitterness rises in Ren's throat like bile when, unbidden, the memory of Hux staring at him on Crait comes rushing back to the forefront of his mind. How tall he stood, how full he was of unwarranted pride. </p><p>It took no more than a flick of his wrist to have Hux on his knees, thrown against the reinforce durasteel walls of his command shuttle, yet it did not feel like a victory.</p><p>Respect me! Ren wanted to scream at him. He wanted to break every bone in his disgustingly weak body, until the defiant gleam in Hux's eyes was finally expunged.</p><p>Even after Ren had taken everything from Hux: his ships, his troops, everything but his rank and that only in name; even after he had made the man Pryde's glorified footboy, Hux refused to respect him.</p><p>Yes, he had learned to fear Ren, knowing how precarious his own position on the Steadfast was, but he had never acknowledged Ren as his better; a Force-null like Hux!</p><p>"Who is it you're thinking of?"</p><p>Ren turns, moving slowly like a man torn from a dream, unwilling to face reality just yet.</p><p>"What makes you think I’m thinking of anybody?" he retorts, already having grown tired of this conversation before it has properly begun.</p><p>Perik isn't deterred by his brusqueness. He smiles at Ren, touching a fingertip to the tip of his own nose as he contemplates Ren's question.</p><p>"I have a nose for it," he claims. "Besides, your face says it all."</p><p>His face. His twice-cursed face: too open, too expressive, too easy to read and oh, how he longs for his mask.</p><p>"Somebody I used to know," Ren admits at last, knowing full well that Perik won't leave him be until he has his answer, any answer, no matter how cryptic it may be.</p><p>He's a patient man, Ren has learned, more so than any other person, human or alien, that he has ever known. And it's unsettling, to be subjected to such scrutiny when it is seemingly inexhaustible. </p><p>It didn't matter who—his parents, Luke, Snoke—sooner or later they all gave up, having grown tired of his volatile temper and either leaving him to deal with it on his own or punish him harshly for this perceived lack of control.</p><p>Perik though, he simply sits and waits, content to let the silence stretch between them until Ren can no longer bear it.</p><p>"Somebody I used to hate."</p><p>Perik hums in understanding, as if he could ever hope to decipher the complicated threads making up the tapestry of his and the late General's relationship.</p><p>"But not anymore?" Perik urges gently.</p><p>Ren looks at him, eyes cold.</p><p>"Can you hate the dead?" he wonders aloud and gets up before Perik can ask any more questions.</p><p>Ren has wasted enough time indulging the whims of an old man. His students are waiting for him and he's itching for a fight.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>"Again!" Ren barks at Ermen, charging at her before she has a chance to pick herself up from the ground.</p><p>The whole training area is covered in a fine film of dust, the sand and dirt stirred to grey clouds by their frantic motions.</p><p>Ren knows he's being ruthless, more so than usual. He needs to regain his inner balance and soon, or it's entirely possible that his students will leave the training ground with more than their wounded pride and a few bruises today.</p><p>The conversation with Perik has upset him more than he cares to admit, has aggravated his already fragile temper. And so have the dreams he cannot seem to shake.</p><p>Ermen side-steps his attack at the last moment, staring wide-eyed at the deep groove Ren's vibroblade has left in the ground, in the exact spot where she has stood only seconds ago.</p><p>Had Ren not been distracted by his own thundering thoughts, he might have congratulated Ermen on her slowly sharpening reflexes. As it stands, he only glares at her with battle lust gleaming in his eyes.</p><p>He wants to forget, wants to think no more, wants to banish the memories of his old life once and for all.</p><p>It used to be easy: giving himself over to the Dark, let its all-consuming hunger take him. </p><p>The Dark Side didn't allow doubt, didn't tolerate anything but power to to occupy its disciples' minds. There used to lie liberation in such absolutes and Ren yearns to feel such certainty once more, to find peace in the darkness. But when he reaches out in the Force, he finds nothing only doubt and more questions without answers lurking in the void. He’s no longer an acolyte of the Dark but neither is he of the Light.</p><p>What is he but a man rejected by both?</p><p>Not a man. A child playing at being a man.</p><p>The voice in his head is new but familiar, the crisp Imperial accent unmistakable, though Ren knows the owner of that voice has never dared to speak these words out loud.</p><p>With the voice come the memories: of storm-grey eyes sizing him up (always deeming him lacking) and of red hair neatly combed back held (it didn't look quite as neat anymore after Ren had choked the man into submission on the Supremacy).</p><p>Hux. Why Hux?</p><p>Was this a cruel prank played on him by the Force? Was he now doomed to see the General's prim visage and hear his biting voice for all eternity and beyond death?</p><p>Ren growls, pressing his teeth together so tightly he can hear his jaw crack.</p><p>He succeeds in pushing thoughts of the disgraced general aside. Just in the nick of time too, as Gera and Vik are charging at him. No doubt, they have sensed his distraction and decided to take advantage of it.</p><p>They have learned from their mistakes and attack him together with their newly acquired quarterstaffs. Ren manages to parry Gera's attack but knows he won't be able to do the same with Vik's.</p><p>Vik brings down his weapon with a triumphant cry, victory shining in his eyes. The impact sends Ren to his knees. The entire left side of his body, starting from his shoulder and reaching down to the tips of his toes feels like it is on fire.</p><p>Through the dull throbbing of the pain and the unpleasant ringing in his ears, he can hear the twins rejoice, their triumphant laughter outrageously obnoxious. They're joined by the rest of the group who congratulate the two with shoulder pats and scattered applause.</p><p>Ren is seething. Their laughter is loud, so loud, mocking him, humiliating him.</p><p>"Enough." </p><p>He presses the word out between clenched teeth but none of his pupils are listening, too overjoyed by their perceived victory to care much for what the defeated has to say.</p><p>Vik is holding his quarterstaff high above his head, twirling it in lazy circles.</p><p>"I said ENOUGH!"</p><p>The wooden weapon bursts into a thousand tiny splinters.</p><p>For the duration of a heartbeat they stay suspended in the air held there by Ren's will alone, before he lets them rain down on his shell-shocked students.</p><p>Previously so eager to look at Vik and share in his triumph, they're quick to cover their eyes.</p><p>The exuberant mood is all but extinguished and the laughter has died a quick and merciless death, but now his students are staring at Ren with unconcealed terror distorting their unwashed faces.</p><p>"What was that?!" Ermen screeches, clutching her weapon with shaking hands.</p><p>"I know what that was!" Mylan says, spitting out the words so quickly, Ren half expects him to choke on his own tongue before he can share what little knowledge he thinks he has.</p><p>"The Sith Fanatics! They tell stories of Lords of the Sith possessing unnatural powers: to destroy and hurt and kill with only a thought!"</p><p>Ren can barely resist the urge to roll his eyes.</p><p>He's no Sith. Long gone are the days of the Sith, their claim to power too weak to last and the Sith fanatics who worship them are no more than mad men bound to perish just like those they consider their idols.</p><p>"Fool!" Ren snaps at Mylan, pleased when he jumps at the sharpness of his voice. "There are no Sith anymore, no Jedi. There's only the Force and those who know how to wield it."</p><p>"And you do."</p><p>All heads turn to Perik, who returns their startled expressions with a soothing smile.</p><p>Unlike the others, he appears unbothered by the overall chaos and the revelation that the stranger they have welcomed in their midst is in possession of mystical powers most have only ever heard horror stories about, if at all.</p><p>When he steps closer, Ren finds neither fear nor judgement in his steady gaze, which is far more disconcerting than the open hostility he feels radiating off the rest of the group.</p><p>"Indeed," Ren mumbles while picking himself off the ground, refusing to meet Perik's eyes.</p><p>He doesn't want to see the sympathy reflected in them, the patient understanding, the pity Ren has no use for.</p><p>"And here I always thought Force-Users carried lightsabers," Perik notes, the good humour in his voice unmistakable.</p><p>Ren shrugs.</p><p>The loss of his saber is an open wound that has yet to heal. At times, he finds himself reaching for it on his belt, startled when his fingers close around empty air instead of the familiar hilt.</p><p>"A sensitive topic, I see," Perik says, far too observant for Ren's liking.</p><p>He turns to the rest of the group, hands behind his back as he regards them. "Nobody hurt? Well, then I'd say this is as good a time as any to conclude today's training."</p><p>The group looks at each other, turning their heads left and right as if they’re unsure whether Perik is joking or not. Bits of wood are clinging to their clothes and hair still, falling like rain when they move.</p><p>Perik huffs.</p><p>"What? Has he all struck you with deafness? I told you to go home, your families are waiting."</p><p>Like an anthill a cruel child has thrust a twig into, they scatter in uncoordinated chaos, moving in one direction before they decide that, no, the village lies the other way.</p><p>"You'll just let him get away with this?"</p><p>It's Melas' voice cutting through the mayhem, the only one brave enough to speak out against the village elder.</p><p>All shuffling and scraping ceases and the others, who, not a moment ago, were all too eager to leave Ren and the uncomfortable knowledge of his powers behind, stop dead in their tracks, their faces slack with shock.</p><p>Perik meets Melas’ eyes without flinching, his expression one of careful consideration.</p><p>"Yes," he says, nodding slowly. "I will let him get away with this." He turns without another word, leaving the dumbfounded villagers and this argument behind.</p><p>Walking with his arms behind his back, his pace is slow, as if he's waiting for something or someone to catch up with him.</p><p>"Well?" Perik calls over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"</p><p>It dawns on Ren then, that the old man expects him to follow.</p><p>After a moment of consideration, and indignation that Perik would dare call for him like one would call for a dog, Ren decides to comply.</p><p>Because there's little else to do, he reasons with himself. Because he can't be bothered to stay and concern himself with the fearful looks of his pupils, wordlessly demanding an explanation he's not willing to give.</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>They walk in silence and though it's by no means a companionable one, it's not particularly tense either. Perik seems content with wandering the deadlands without a single word shared between them, turning left and right following no path Ren can decipher.</p><p>As is so often the case when Perik is concerned, it's Ren who breaks the silence, curiosity triumphing over a childish need not to be the first to speak.</p><p>"You know the Force," Ren accuses him, cutting straight to the point.</p><p>Perik shrugs. "I know of the Force. I'm not gifted like you."</p><p>"How?" Ren presses further, impatience rising and settling buzzing in his chest like a hive of angry bees.</p><p>But Perik isn't one to be pushed. He regards Ren with his deep-set eyes and Ren cannot help but feel like he's being appraised.</p><p>Does he pass muster?</p><p>Ren cannot say.</p><p>"I used to serve the Emperor," Perik explains, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. "Chosen to aid in his resurrection and ready to give my life for him if he so desired. They trained us; had us study the ancient texts hidden deep in the Emperor's lair, texts long forgotten by the outside world. Many of those spoke of the Force, this mythical power only few possessed."</p><p>"That's not how the Force works, " Ren argues, surprised by and annoyed at his own loose tongue.</p><p>What does it matter whether or not Perik knows how the Force works? Ren is mentor to five bumbling fools already, no need to add a sixth to the list.</p><p>Perik hums in contemplation, nodding before he bends over to pick a pebble off the downtrodden path. He rolls it in his hand, inspecting every angle as if it were a precious gemstone.</p><p>"My studies lie many years back. My knowledge of the Force may not be what it once was. Care to enlighten me, Ren?"</p><p>No, but what other choice does he have?</p><p>"The Force,” Ren begins, his lips and tongue moving only slowly, as if reluctant to share any of the knowledge others had shared with him so willingly when he was a boy. </p><p>Luke sometimes described him as jealous, possessive, hoarding knowledge like an Arkanian dragon, unwilling to part with any of it.</p><p>What is knowledge worth if we don't share it? Luke asked a young Ben Solo once. Guarding it so jealously will only result in its oblivion.</p><p>"The Force," Ren tries again, pushing the unpleasant memories away, "is in every living thing. It penetrates us, surrounds us, but not all of us can feel it or learn to use it."</p><p>Perik gives another nod, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile.</p><p>"Yes, that was it. I remember now."</p><p>"You can't use the Force but you served those who could," Ren urges, eager to steer the conversation away from him, even if that means enduring more of Perik's wistful recounting of his past.</p><p>But the pleased smile doesn't last and Perik's expression shifts into one of thoughtfulness. He takes his time to answer, clearly not caring that his sudden reluctance is testing Ren's patience.</p><p>"I did," Perik finally says and lifts his head to look up into the overcast sky. "Men are easily swayed by promises of riches and power. I was young and knew little better, having grown up amongst other fanatics who knew only loyalty to the Emperor."</p><p>He pauses to play with the pebble in his hand.</p><p>"Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to make excuses. I don't deny any of the things I've done in his name. I'm little better than those I claim to fear now."</p><p>Ren looks at Perik then, really looks at him, taking him in for perhaps the first time: His silver-grey hair; his dark skin already brittle with age; the keen, intelligent eyes sparkling under bushy brows. And he knows without having to invade Perik's mind, that this man has killed and tortured and maimed, and all in Palpatine's name.</p><p>"What changed?" Ren hears himself asking, the words slipping out of his mouth before he's made the conscious decision to say them aloud.</p><p>This time, Perik's reply comes easily and without hesitation.</p><p>"Everything," he says, a dreamy look on his face that makes disgust curl in Ren's belly.</p><p>"I met Himil, another soldier of the Emperor. But unlike me, she had no intentions of dying for him or any other man. She gave me an ultimatum: either her or my delusions of grandeur in the service of another. Looking back, the decision was an easy one."</p><p>Wrinkling his nose, Ren regards the man standing before him.</p><p>Love then? Love made him leave all that he's known behind, made him abandon his post and his only chance at greatness. How cliché. How trite.</p><p>"You threw it all away," Ren says, disbelief colouring his voice. "For a woman?"</p><p>Perik throws the pebble high into the air, catching it with ease when it comes falling down again.</p><p>"What better reason is there?" he asks. "Besides, between you and me, those promises of power? We both know that they're nothing but smoke and mirrors. Or don't we, Kylo Ren?"</p><p>Ren stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide, a turmoil of emotions raging on behind them.</p><p>"What?" he hisses, longing desperately for the familiar weight of a lightsaber in his hand.</p><p>"Or is that not your name?" Perik asks in that peculiar way only people knowing full well the truth of their words can ask.</p><p>It's not. Not anymore. Just as Ben Solo is no longer his name either. The people those names once belonged to are dead and Ren has yet to figure out who this new person looking at him from the other side of the mirror is.</p><p>"How?" Ren wonders aloud, not willing to acknowledge Perik's words—and the truth in them—more than that.</p><p>"How do I know?" Perik asks, calm as the sea on a windless night.</p><p>Ren nods.</p><p>"You've been here before," Perik points out, as if that's explanation enough.</p><p>And maybe it is.</p><p>Back when he came to find Palpatine and barter for the power to subjugate the whole galaxy, Ren didn't care who else could see him enter Palpatine's lair. The planet's population of Sith fanatics and renegades were little more than vermin in his eyes and he didn't waste a single thought on them.</p><p>"Your name is...was feared," Perik goes on. "Don't think we're so naive as not to closely watch those who walk on Exegol. The moment you set foot onto the planet’s surface the Sith fanatics knew. Whispers soon grew loud, of the arrival of the Lord of Ren, the Supreme Leader of the First Order, of a powerful Force-user by the name of Kylo Ren, chosen by the Emperor himself. It was only a matter of time until these news would reach our ears as well."</p><p>His former title, spoken so freely, makes Ren flinch.</p><p>Only a few weeks have passed since he held it and already it feels like another life, one he no longer has any part in. </p><p>"When did you realise?" he asks Perik, unnerved by the man's indifference to his past.</p><p>Does nobody fear him anymore?</p><p>"I had my suspicions," Perik admits. "And they started the moment Pip came back from one of their scavenger hunts accompanied by a tall stranger with nothing to his name but a crashed TIE Fighter. A stranger who was obviously skilled in combat but carried no weapon."</p><p>Right from the beginning then and yet Perik allowed him to stay, offered him shelter and food and all that in exchange for nothing but a promise to train his people.</p><p>Unless, of course, there's more to it than the simple hospitality of an even simpler folk. No doubt, the Resistance would pay handsomely for the head of the former Supreme Leader should they come to realise that he's not quite as dead as they believed him to be.</p><p>Ren's expression darkens, his fingers twitching as he contemplates killing Perik right here, right now.</p><p>"How can you be so sure?" he demands to know instead, reminding himself that killing Perik would solve nothing and leave him with more questions rather than answers. "How can you truly know that I am who you think I am?"</p><p>It's a nonsensical question and they both know it. After all, the crux of Ren's problem lies not in the question of how Perik knows but that he knows. Nevertheless, Perik indulges him.</p><p>"We're not entirely uncivilised, no matter what you might think," he tells Ren, though there's no heat in his voice despite the thinly-veiled accusation in his words. "News may travel slow here on Exegol but eventually they reach even us. Yours is a peculiar face, one not so easily forgotten, scar or no scar."</p><p>Perik pauses briefly, regarding Ren with a tilt of his head.</p><p>"Though I admit, I wasn't sure until you used those powers of yours on Pip. When they came stumbling back into the house-" Perik shakes his head, reminiscing. </p><p>"I immediately recognised that empty look in their eyes. I've seen it before on those serving the Emperor involuntarily, their minds broken beyond repair. And while I understand that Pip can be a handful, I don't appreciate you playing mind tricks on an innocent child."</p><p>Ren frowns, feeling chastised in a way he hasn't felt since he was a small boy.</p><p>There's no pain following Perik's reprimands, unlike those he had to endure coming from Snoke. Neither do they bring with them the rotten stench of shame that lingered in the air and concentrated around Luke whenever he had to remind Ben Solo to be gentler, to control himself better; as if he was ashamed of the shared blood between them.</p><p>No, Perik's almost teasing admonishment has nothing in common with either Snoke's or Luke's. Instead they remind Ren of Han Solo and how he'd merely sigh, ruffle a young Ben Solo's hair and make him promise not to do it again—no matter what mischief Ben had caused that time. </p><p>And always and without fail, as soon as the promise was given, Han Solo would smile that scoundrel smile of his and hold out his pinky, assuring Ben in a conspiratorial whisper that his mother would never hear of this.</p><p>Han Solo kept few of his promises, but the ones whispered between father and son? Those he kept.</p><p>Ren shakes himself out of the memory, realising he's dwelled too much on times long gone. There are other, more pressing matters requiring his attention.</p><p>Looking up, Ren finds Perik eyeing him curiously and cupping his elbow with one hand while the other taps a slow rhythm against his lips.</p><p>"Who else?" Ren demands to know, skin crawling under the sharp focus with which Perik regards him. "Who else knows?"</p><p>Stroking a hand down his beard, Perik huffs.</p><p>"No need for panic, my boy. Nobody but me knows."</p><p>Ren's eyes narrow.</p><p>"You realise I can take whatever I want from your mind? Lying will not save you."</p><p>"I'm very much aware," Perik assures him. "Which is why I didn't even bother with it. And why would I? I'm not lying. Nobody knows. It's our little secret. Yours and mine."</p><p>"Why let me stay then? Do you not fear me?"</p><p>Perik has the audacity to laugh.</p><p>"Oh, I'd be a fool not to. And I certainly fear Kylo Ren: his cruelty, his power, his mercilessness. When Pip returned with you in tow I was terrified, certain that our end was nigh. Imagine my surprise when Pip claimed that you of all people had offered to help us in our time of need. I decided then, that I'd give you a chance. See for myself if the heir of Darth Vader had indeed changed."</p><p>Struck speechless, Ren can do nothing but stare.</p><p>"Changed?" he echoes, his voice a low whisper.</p><p>Has he changed? He can't tell. He feels as if stuck between two worlds, two lives, neither of which belong to him anymore.</p><p>"You're no longer calling yourself Kylo Ren," Perik gently points out.</p><p>Neither is he calling himself Ben Solo.</p><p>"Tell me, Ren," Perik asks when no reply from him is forthcoming, "why are you still here?"</p><p>Immediately, Ren's expression darkens.</p><p>"You know full well why I'm still here," he hisses.</p><p>"Because you need parts to repair that TIE Fighter of yours?" Perik asks, his chest moving as he heaves a deep sigh. "Ren, in the time you’ve been here you’ve already earned those parts twice over and you know it."</p><p>Ren remains stubborn, unwilling to admit what they both already know.</p><p>"Your people need training still."</p><p>"Perhaps, but you're not so selfless as to train them for nothing in return," Perik argues. "Or are you?"</p><p>Selfless? No, he certainly isn't. But there's a part of him, however small, that enjoys the daily spars, the opportunity to let his body take control, to empty his mind of all its questions, to forget the dreams, dreams of cold eyes and fiery hair, if only just for a little while.</p><p>The truth is: He's still here on Exegol not because he can't fix the TIE Fighter that is slowly gathering dust and dirt not far from the village, but because he doesn't know where to go.</p><p>Once, his path seemed so clear, a flaming mark burned into his mind, and he followed it without straying from it once.</p><p>Where once was a path, there's now an open sea, endlessly daunting, in all directions lying only uncertainty.</p><p>Ren is here because he has nowhere else to go.</p><p>"I can feel your restlessness," Ren can hear Perik say. His voice is dulled, as if it reaches him beneath deep waters, though one furtive look tells Ren that he's still here,standing uncomfortably close.</p><p>"Takes no Force-sensibility to see that," Perik continues, pretending not to notice Ren's gaze on him.</p><p>"It's cruel of me to say that and believe me, I hate to be, but you deserve the truth, my boy. And the truth is: you're not made for peace, for its quiet standstill. You'll never be happy here."</p><p>Ren turns to face Perik, meets the deep-set eyes and says:</p><p>“I know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He dreams of rain. Of its gentle drip-drop against foggy transparisteel windows.</p><p>He dreams of the lingering petrichor, the smell of it familiar, even though the last Hux spent any time planetside was when he was five years old and still believed he could make his father love him, if only he tried hard enough.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Will I ever establish a regular updating schedule? Probably not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>VIII. Ghosts</strong>
</p><p><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>He dreams of rain. Of its gentle drip-drop against foggy transparisteel windows.</p><p>He dreams of the lingering petrichor, the smell of it familiar, even though the last Hux spent any time planetside was when he was five years old and still believed he could make his father love him, if only he tried hard enough.</p><p>With the rain comes thunder and lightning, bright enough to illuminate the pitch black skies and turn them the colour of ash. All around him the world is bending its knee to the raw power of nature: trees are falling, dams are breaking and the air is filled with the sounds of chaos. Only Hux remains untouched. The whipping winds cannot reach him and not a single drop of rain has hit his skin.</p><p>There are voices in the air, cruel voices screaming his name.</p><p>Someone—or something—is searching for him. </p><p>He's not sure he wants to be found</p><p>One voice in particular he's sure he has heard before, in another time, another life, but he cannot place it.</p><p>I'm here, he thinks but doesn't say, hesitating to reveal himself, lest he lead whoever the voice belongs to to him.</p><p>The storm picks up once more and yet  Hux can hear the voice as close as if the words are whispered directly into his ear.</p><p>"I'm here!" he shouts at last, seized by a frantic panic that feels as if it's not his own, but as if it’s another man's terror flowing through him, making him cry out against his wishes.</p><p>Hux turns in all directions, rotating around his own axis like a man possessed, until his vision turns blurry and he comes to a stumbling halt.</p><p>The voice is gone, lost to the howling winds, and a hopelessness Hux can neither justify nor explain settles in his chest.</p><p>"No," he whispers under his breath, throat tight with loss.</p><p>When he looks up, his eyes meet that of Kylo Ren.</p><p>"You?" Ren whispers, eyes wide and tone disbelieving.</p><p>Typical Ren, underestimating him as usual.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Hux wants to say.<em> I'm alive. I survived Pryde. I survived the fall of the First Order. I survived you. I'm stronger than you thought. Stronger than all of you. And never again will I have to bow to the likes of you.</em></p><p>He opens his mouth to speak, to tell this apparition all these things and more, but no sound makes it past his lips. </p><p>When he tries a second time, he's cut off by a shrill, beeping sound that tears through both the storm and his dream.</p><p>Hux comes to with a groan, swallowing once, twice, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of the fuzzy feeling on his tongue. Another beep cuts through the morning air and, given no other choice, Hux rolls off his cot and gets to his feet.</p><p>Scratching at the day-old stubble on his chin, he makes his way to what he's come to refer to as the front door of his humble abode: a simple latch secured with a lock he built from scrap metal.</p><p>The latch opens with a rusty screech and rosy sunlight floods the small space.</p><p>Waiting on the other side is Rex, as animated as always, despite the early hour.</p><p>"Yes," Hux tells it and turns to scuffle back inside, confident that the droid will follow. "I'm aware of the time. You're early."</p><p>Rex, not programmed to care much for propriety, chirps at him before it rolls over to inspect an assortment of spare parts Hux keeps in a banged up plastisteel box.</p><p>Hux leaves it be. The droid can be terribly affectionate at times—a programming error, Hux assumes— and if letting it rummage around his home means he'll get a few minutes of peace to get ready for the day, then so be it.</p><p>Hux doesn't have a sonic. Not yet at least. He’s slowly collecting the parts and credits needed for it, but it might take a few more commissions until he can enjoy such luxury. For now, he has to make do with a broken piece of durasteel that he polished to a shine for use as a mirror and a wooden bowl filled with water.</p><p>As he dunks a piece of cloth into the murky water—wringing it out before rubbing it over his face—he can't help but ponder the strange dream he had that was so rudely interrupted by Rex.</p><p>It's not the first time he dreamt of Ren, not even the second or third, and by now those dreams have become somewhat of a nuisance. Hux wants to forget, wants to never waste another thought on Kylo Ren and the many ways in which he has humiliated him.</p><p>It's over, Hux reminds himself as he strips out of his underwear and washes the lower half of his body. Ren is dead and you're alive and that's all that matters.</p><p>From the other end of the room, Rex gives a low whistle and Hux rolls his eyes at it.</p><p>"If that much organic tissue on display bothers you, then you're more than welcome to leave," he tells the droid as he tosses the cloth back into the bowl.</p><p>He ignores Rex’s ongoing protests in favour of putting on a pair of underwear and tight-fitting trousers, together with a long-sleeved shirt and a cape that should offer some protection from the blazing sun.</p><p>Examining his reflection in the mirror, he sighs. His hair is getting too long and so is his beard. The drugs the First Order used to inhibit hair growth are losing their potency, their effect diminishing now that he no longer doesn't take the prescribed daily dose.</p><p>All things considered, he makes a pitiful sight: his hair a wild, ginger mess; the lower half of his face covered by a beard, and the bridge of his nose speckled with freckles, courtesy of continued exposure to the sun.</p><p>There's little left of the once proud general: immaculate from the tips of his hair to the soles of his feet. Now he looks like every other scavenger fighting for survival here on Jakku.</p><p>Hux straightens up, careful not to put too much weight on his left leg. It has healed well enough and he is lucky the wound didn't get infected, but he knows he’ll never be entirely without pain again.</p><p>It's a small price to pay for his life and Hux is not the kind of man to waste precious time pondering could-haves and should-haves. The shrivelled skin where the blaster bolt hit him is just another scar—one of many that litter his body—and the only thing that marks it as special: the fact that it was inflicted by one of his own stormtroopers. Former stormtrooper, he should say. FN-2187, Finn as Hux knows he's called now, is a disgrace for the stormtrooper program, a living reminder of Hux's failure to create the perfect soldier. </p><p>And this man, this traitor, is now a celebrated war hero.</p><p>What a farce.</p><p>Hux clicks his tongue, banishing all thoughts of FN-2187 from his mind. There's no time for regrets. The sun is rising and soon it will be too hot to bear. </p><p>He grabs his cane—a piece of wood he carved into shape—and grabs his bag of tools.</p><p>"Time to head out," he calls over to Rex.</p><p>The droid is by his side within a heartbeat and together they make their way outside.</p><p>Already, the sun is so bright it hurts Hux's eyes and he's quick to pull the hood of his cape up, frowning when that grants him barely any relief.</p><p>How much he hates the Jakku desert, the hot sand like moving water under his feet, the sandpaper dry winds, the blinding light.</p><p>And how he misses the smooth surfaces of the Finalizer's hallways, the simple elegance of the design, the smell of filtered air.</p><p>He turns away from the sun, to his left where a piece of durasteel is buried halfway in the sand. It's crooked, tilting precariously to the side, and Hux heaves a sigh. It has become his habit: to adjust the piece of durasteel until it stands straight once more, and run his fingers over the name etched into the rusty metal.</p><p>It's an empty grave. Even if he had possessed the strength necessary to drag the corpse of a fully grown man through the desert and bury him here,  Hux doubts he would've been able to find the shallow grave he first made for Ro when they crashed on Jakku again. The desert is a possessive lover and she doesn't let go of those who have died in her arms.</p><p>Hux doesn't speak—what point is there in speaking to the dead?—but allows himself to linger for a moment to trace the wonky letters etched into the durasteel that make up Ro's name with his fingertips. There are no numbers.</p><p>Gratitude is a strange sensation; an emotion he’s unaccustomed to and which he has not felt since Rae Sloane first looked at him with cold fire in her eyes and made him her protégé. </p><p>He has almost forgotten how it feels. Stars know it did those who showed him kindness little good: Rae Sloane who has disappeared, never to return from the unknown regions, and Ro who died protecting Hux, not knowing who he really was.</p><p>Rex's insistent beeps are what finally force Hux to turn away from the simple grave. The droid is right, Jakku waits for no one and if Hux wants to survive another day then he better hurry. Heaving a sigh, he swings himself up the speeder bike, the metal hot enough to almost almost burn him through his thin trousers. Blasted desert climate.</p><p>It takes him two tries to start the ignition but he's used to that. When he found the vehicle leaning against one of the AT-AT's legs, half buried in sand, it was little more than a heap of junk. Everything from the repulsorlifts to the afterburners had either been broken or in its death throes. Weeks he spent repairing it, on the verge of giving up more than once, before he succeeded in resuscitating the pitiful thing. The first time he started the engines he was promptly shocked by the speeder’s security system. No wonder none of the many scavengers on Jakku had taken off with it. It took Hux another week to bypass the rider interface that required a fingerprint for the speeder to be powered on, and reprogram it so the system would recognise his own fingerprint as valid.</p><p>A frustrating endeavor, but well worth the hassle in Hux's opinion. Without this speeder bike he would've either starved out here or died trying to find his way back to Niima outpost on foot.</p><p>Whoever thought it fit to discard their vehicle here, they have Hux’s gratitude.</p><p>"Get on the speeder already," he tells Rex. "I have absolutely no qualms about leaving you behind, as you well know."</p><p>Rex beeps at him, complaining in furious binary until Hux gives in and lifts the droid, that is surprisingly heavy for such a small thing, up on the bike and into the net bolted to the side of the speeder.</p><p>"This is the last time," he warns.</p><p>Rex gives a happy whistle and Hux takes off without another word.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>He's lucky.</p><p>Most of the vendors haven't arrived yet and so he’s free to put up his small stall wherever he pleases, which, in this case, means close enough to the well that he can have Rex fetch water and not too far from the Teedo's cleaning station, so that he might make some credits trading parts with the cleaners instead of having to go through Unkar Plutt.</p><p>He's had practise enough now to set up the shade protecting him from the sun with a flick of the wrist and without much help from Rex, though the droid still insists on setting up the solar-powered sign that Hux built from spare parts.</p><p>On Jakku—with most traders using hand-written, hardly readable signs to advertise their wares and services—Hux's illuminated sign marks him as special and easily draws customers.</p><p>There aren’t many of them here this early in the morning, but Hux isn't worried. Not long and the plaza will be buzzing with activity, the air filled with the booming voices of the vendors and the blown up dust.</p><p>The scavengers will follow soon after, dragging their morning haul to Hux to let him appraise it before bringing it to Unkar Plutt, haggling for one more portion, confident in their demands thanks to the expertise Hux so graciously shared with them.</p><p>After some heated negotiations they will return to Hux, paying him his share in portions before leaving for their second round of scavenging. Only a few will stay a while longer to have Hux look at their rusty hydrospanners and broken flashlights.</p><p>Later, when the sun is already high in the sky, the common people of Jakku will pay him a visit: moisture farmers who want their ancient droids repaired, pilots who have found themselves stranded here because their ships malfunctioned and willing to pay a lot of credits to get off this shithole as quickly as possible, street food vendors whose hover carts broke down.</p><p>It's an utter waste of his talents, Hux knows, but nobody here cares that he designed an entire fleet of Star Destroyers when he was only fourteen. And boasting about his brilliant invention of Starkiller Base will hardly put any food on the table.</p><p>Patience, he reminds himself. This is not the end. He won't be fixing labour droids forever. Soon, he'll have enough credits to leave this place, to rebuild his life. He'll leave and never look back. He'll--</p><p>"Lost in thought, I see."</p><p>Hux jerks up, his hood sliding off to reveal his surprised face.</p><p>Looking at him with a smile on her wrinkled face is Graia.</p><p>Before Hux can utter so much as a greeting, Rex is by the old woman's side, rubbing its rotating head against her leg.</p><p>She pets it like one would an overeager puppy.</p><p>"Good morning to you too," she says before turning her attention back to Hux. "And to you, Armitage."</p><p>He tries not to flinch at the use of his given name.</p><p>"You're early," he says instead, busying himself with inspecting and laying out the tools he’ll need for the day. "Usually you don't pester me before midday."</p><p>Graia crosses her arms before her chest and clicks her tongue in disapproval at his lacking manners.</p><p>"Now pestering is what you call it when I bring you lunch every day, knowing that you always forget to pack any for yourself? You're too skinny, my dear."</p><p>Hux disagrees. It's true that most days his calorie intake is below the recommended daily amount for a human male his age, but he's not used to anything else but the processed meals served in the First Order.</p><p>Graia means well, but it's rare that Hux is able to take more than a few bites before his stomach starts to protest and punishes him with painful cramps. The rations Unkar Plutt hands out are easier to digest, closer to what Hux is used to, and equally bland in flavour.</p><p>"It's hardly lunch time, now is it?" Hux points out.</p><p>Graia's smile sharpens and a glint of mischief ignites in her deep-set eyes.</p><p>"You haven't heard? We got a new one. A pilot of the Resistance. He got here yesterday; had to make an emergency landing ‘cause his power core burned through. They say he brings news from the war."</p><p>The war is over. Has been over for weeks now but he supposes news travels slower here on Jakku and nobody did think to inform the good people living here that the First Order's reign in the galaxy has ended.</p><p>Then again, what difference does it make to Graia? To Unkar Plutt? To all the people living on this junkyard of a planet?  Their lives remained unchanged during the war, their petty routines uninterrupted. Most of them were grateful for it and didn't concern themselves with what went on in the galaxy for as long as they had their farms to tend to and children to feed.</p><p>Only few still remember the Battle of Jakku and those who do have tasted enough of war's cruelty to give a kriff about the outcome of one they had no stakes in.</p><p>But though intergalactic conflict is the furthest from these people's minds, gossip and news from other worlds are always a welcome distraction.</p><p>No doubt, this Resistance pilot is already boasting of his heroic tales in the village’s only cantina and the locals are forced to listen whether they want to or not.</p><p>Hux has a bad feeling about this.</p><p>"He has a room at <em>Caupona's</em>," Graia interrupts his brooding. "You should come with me. Try and see if you can fix that pilot’s power core. Could earn you some credits."</p><p>Squinting up at Graia, Hux shakes his head.</p><p>"I'm really not interested in what some off-worlder has to say about the war and I don’t think I’m equipped to repair the power core of a starship. Besides, I can hardly leave my stall unattended, now can I?"</p><p>Graia gasps in mock affront, one hand pressed against her chest.</p><p>"You would let an old, defenseless woman go to a cantina full of scoundrels and ruffians all on her own? What a cruel man you are, Armitage."</p><p>Rex beeps in agreement. Hux scoffs.</p><p>"You could simply not go," he says. "As far as I'm concerned, a cantina is no place anyone should desire to be. They're dirty, frequented only by the most unsavory of lifeforms and the drinks served there are questionable at best."</p><p>Graia is still looking at him and he can feel his resolve crumble.</p><p>"Fine, but Rex will stay here and guard my stall."<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><em>Caupona’s</em> isn’t busy. Most of the patrons lounging in the worn-out seats and leaning against the shoddily put together bar counter have most likely arrived last night already and stayed until the early hours of the morning, too intoxicated to stagger home. Only a few are bounty hunters and folk of similar professions waiting for the next opportunity to make some credits.</p><p>When Hux and Graia enter the cantina, nobody cares enough to look up from their plates. Graia is well-known and, unlike Hux, well-liked in the tight-knit community of Niima Outpost. Not even the most hardened of mercenaries would dare draw the ire of Jakku’s entire population by crossing her.</p><p>Hux assumes her insistence to associate with him is one of the only reasons why he hasn't been kicked off the planet yet. That and his ability to fix a kitchen droid with nothing but a piece of wire and some glue. It's certainly not his charming personality that has endeared him to the people.</p><p>"Be a darling and bring me a cup of tea, would you?" Graia asks the bartender as she sits down on one of the high stools at the bar, offered a helping hand by the Zabrak next to her. Nobody offers Hux any help when he sits down—not that he needs it.</p><p>The bartender is a Wookie of little words. He simply grumbles in acquiescence and disappears into the kitchen only to reappear a moment later, carrying a tray he sets down in front of Graia.</p><p>At the sight of the steaming tea kettle and the small cup of bantha milk accompanying it, Graia’s thin-lipped mouth pulls into a pleased smile. She reaches out and pats the Wookie on his furry arm.</p><p>"Oh, you spoil me."</p><p>The Wookie shrugs and turns away to serve another customer. He doesn't ask Hux if he'd like anything to drink.</p><p>Hux watches as Graia pours herself a cup of tea and his mouth waters as the comforting smell of Tarine wafts up his nose. How long has it been since he last had the pleasure of that tangy sensation prickling on the tip of his tongue?</p><p>Where did a Wookie bartender in the middle of nowhere even get Tarine tea?</p><p>"Drink already," Graia says, effectively snapping Hux out of it. "I've seen men look less longingly at their own wives than the way you're looking at this cup of tea right now."</p><p>She pushes the steaming cup in his direction, miraculously not spilling any of the precious liquid. Hux takes it without hesitation.</p><p>He's never been a humble man. As a child, he was called greedy. Always wanting more than he deserved, but Graia doesn't judge him when he brings the cup to his lips and drinks. On the contrary, she seems pleased, humming softly to herself as she pours a second cup.</p><p>"So," she says as she waits for the tea to cool down. "Spotted that mysterious pilot yet?"</p><p>Hux hasn't and he's glad for it.</p><p>He's feared the dubious pilot would be eager to share his story with an audience, but he has yet to make an appearance. He's not too worried about being recognised. During the dying breaths of the First Order, he was hardly its face anymore. It was Ren who struck fear into the hearts of every galactic system and it was his masked visage that dominated the holo news.</p><p>Besides, Hux is no longer the man he used to be. Some days, he barely recognises himself in the mirror. How should a random Resistance pilot who, most likely, has only ever seen a grainy holo of General Hux once be able to?</p><p>The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste—this unpleasant realisation that he has become irrelevant, reduced to an afterthought overcast by Kylo Ren's looming shadow—but here, it might be to his advantage.</p><p>Nobody cares for General Hux. Nobody will come to look for him. As far as the galaxy is concerned, General Armitage Hux died in the Battle of Exegol.</p><p>He's free.</p><p>Letting his gaze wander, he takes in the assembled crowd at the cantina, lingering a little longer here and there, on the lookout for the familiar orange hue of a Resistance pilot's flight suit.</p><p>When he finds nothing, he turns back to Graia.</p><p>"I fear not," he says and takes another sip of his Tarine tea, slower this time, to savour the taste.</p><p>"A shame," Graia sighs, leaning on her elbow, one hand resting against her head.</p><p>Hux can't say he shares her disappointment. A Resistance pilot on Jakku is the last thing he needs right now.</p><p>"Perhaps we should leave then," Hux suggests, finishing his cup of tea with a satisfied, little sigh. "Since it seems like you won't get to hear any war stories any time soon."</p><p>He gets up from his stool and is about to offer Graia his hand (she did share her Tarine tea with him after all) when a commotion in the back draws their attention.</p><p>Strutting down the stairs leading to the rented rooms, with a sweetly giggling twi'lek companion in his arms, is the most ragged looking man Hux has ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on.</p><p>His hair is long, his facial hair patch and his stained shirt with dark hair peeking out of the deep triangle of his neckline, is half-way undone.</p><p>No doubt, this is indeed the stranded Resistance pilot Graia was so eager to see.</p><p>The Resistance doesn't care one bit for protocol and order, does it? </p><p>Hux scoffs, quickly disguising it as a cough when Graia throws him a curious look.</p><p>The entire attention of the cantina shifts, a good dozen pairs of eyes now resting on the pilot, waiting for the man to either find a quiet corner booth for himself and his companion or order an ebla beer and give them what they all crave: information.</p><p>Hux knows which of the two he'd prefer.</p><p>He has no desire to hear what this man has to say about the war. Most likely, he'll only parrot what the dreaded leadership of the Resistance saw fit to share with their foot soldiers: a glorious tale of valor and heroic splendor that embellishes the unfortunate truth of their victory until it’s more myth than factual report.</p><p>Luck is not on Hux’s side.</p><p>The pilot makes a beeline for the bar counter, squeezing himself in between Hux and the Rodian sitting to his left.</p><p>"Where can a man get a beer in this place?" he asks, voice too loud and too full of cheer. "I want to celebrate and for that I need a drink!"</p><p>The Wookie bartender nods at him and hands him a beer from the fridge, opening it not with a bottle opener but its long claws.</p><p>"And what is there to celebrate, my friend?" Graia asks, earning herself a disapproving look from Hux.</p><p>He has agreed to come here and listen to a drunken man's ramblings for a while, not to let her conduct an interrogation and draw unnecessary attention to them.</p><p>The pilot whose name Hux still doesn't know turns to the two of them, gaze shifting between Hux and Graia. The man's lids hang heavy over his red-rimmed eyes, giving him an expression of permanent exhaustion.</p><p>Hux leans forward, narrow shoulders drawn together in an attempt to make himself as small and unassuming as possible.</p><p>The pilot huffs a laugh, slapping his knee for good measure, before downing his entire beer in one noisy gulp.</p><p>"The war!" he says, setting the now empty bottle down on the counter with a dull thud. "It's over!" The First Order is no longer!"</p><p>The enthusiasm of the assembled crowd is limited at best, much to the pilot's puzzlement if his slack-jawed face is any indication.</p><p>Hux can't suppress a chuckle. It's just as he thought: only a few here on Jakku have any use for stories from the war and most of the patrons here care as much for the victor as they care for a steaming pile of bantha shit.</p><p>Granted, there are a few faces that look at the pilot with open curiosity. Young people mostly, not quite as disillusioned with their lives as their parents, still full of hope that they’d make it off this planet, that they'd be different.</p><p>And then there’s Graia, who, despite her age, has the same gleam in her eyes as all these younger folks, her sense of adventure not yet lost, the curiosity burning as brightly in her heart as when she was a young girl.</p><p>Hux sighs and pours himself the rest of the quickly cooling Tarine tea. Let the old woman have her little pleasures.</p><p>"What happened?" Graia asks, nudging Hux with her elbow even as she addresses the pilot. "Tell us everything."</p><p>The pilot who has yet to introduce himself—not that Hux has expected a member of the dreaded Resistance to have proper manners—gives a pleased huff and pushes out his chest in a misplaced display of pride.</p><p>"It was the stuff of legends, I'm telling you! Fought those fanatics over Exegell or something, hell if I know what that weird planet was called. Never even heard of it before we got the command to attack."</p><p>He shakes his head, his eyes glossing over as he reminisces. </p><p>"The moment we dropped out of hyperspace I knew we were hopelessly outnumbered. But hey, it wasn't the first time I beat the odds. In the end, we got those bastards good."</p><p>Hux bristles at the crude words, the hair at the nape of his neck standing up and a shiver running down his spine despite the suffocating heat.</p><p>He remembers the holo pictures of the First Order ships—his ships. He remembers the sudden emptiness overcoming him at the sight of the Order's downfall.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to relax, to let his tense shoulders fall and his rigid spine to curve a little, just enough so that he may appear like any other patron in this bar: hesitantly curious but uninvested.</p><p>When he can bring himself to follow the conversation once more, the pilot has launched into an animated retelling of the destruction of the First Order's flagship. He doesn't remember the ship's name.</p><p>Hux does.</p><p>"--went down in a huge fireball. Guess you must have been there to believe it. It was marvelous. Burned the whole kriffing High Command to crisps." The pilot pauses, motioning for the bartender to get him another beer before continuing. "If you ask me, then being burned alive was too good for those monsters."</p><p>Hux stiffens in his seat, fingernails scratching over the lackluster lacquering of his tea cup.</p><p>"Monsters?" he echoes and turns to face the pilot.</p><p>Up close he's even more unsavory to look at. The loose shirt he's wearing is sweat-stained and musky, the smell of it an affront to Hux' sensitive nose. His brows are an unplucked mess and there's dirt under his too long nails. To think that men like this could bring down everything that he's worked so hard to perfect.</p><p>"As far as I can remember the First Order tried to bring order to a galaxy that was left in shambles thanks to the incompetent New Republic," he argues, not caring that whether or not such words could get him in trouble.</p><p>The pilot raises a brow, his ever-present smile falling.</p><p>"Eh?" he mumbles unintelligently. "And who are you? Some kind of First Order loyalist?"</p><p>Hux tuts.</p><p>"I've merely asked a question. What makes the First Order monsters and the Resistance heroes? The Resistance has certainly never bothered to improve conditions here on Jakku."</p><p>His point earns him a few agreeing grunts from the other patrons and a thoughtful nod from Graia.</p><p>He shouldn't argue with this man. In fact, he should do the exact opposite: Sit here with a brainless smile etched onto his face and nod along with whatever stupidity is coming out of this moron's mouth.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>"The First Order tried to subjugate the entire galaxy," the pilot says, eyes wide as he looks around the cantina in search of affirmation. The most he gets is a half-hearted shrug from a Snivvian trying to order another drink. "They brought back Palpatine."</p><p>"And we're supposed to believe that?" Hux clicks his tongue. "A man who has been dead for how many years now? Please."</p><p>He went too far. The bafflement on the pilot's face morphs into anger and Hux half expects to be grabbed by his cape and shaken like a shuura tree next. Instead, the pilot slams his half-empty bottle down with such force, it startles an Aqualish, who has fallen asleep with his head on the bar counter, awake.</p><p>"You have no idea what you're talking about," the pilot hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Hux in a way that reminds him far too much of Kylo Ren.</p><p>"Don't I?" Hux wonders, unimpressed.</p><p>It's almost laughable, that he of all people would be accused of not knowing what the First Order was, what they did.</p><p>"We saved the whole damn galaxy and this is the thanks we get?" the pilot rambles on, unaware of Hux's silent musings. "I bet you're one of those karking First Order fanatics. You also one of those weirdos who think Kylo Ren is still alive? That he faked his death? Got saved by the Force or whatever? Pah, you disgust me."</p><p>He spits out, missing Hux's boots by an inch, and turns away, no longer in the mood for heroic tales it seems. And Hux would be glad for it. If it weren't for the pilot's parting words.</p><p>"Wait," Hux implores him as he gets up from his seat and reaches out to grab the man by his shoulder. "What are you talking about? Why would anybody believe that Kylo Ren is alive?"</p><p>The Resistance pilot throws him a look and brushes Hux’s hand resting on his shoulder off with a grumbled huff.</p><p>"This really is the arse-end of nowhere, isn’t it? It's all the holonet is talking about these days. Conspiracy theories over conspiracy theories. He was killed on that Sith planet. But they weren’t able to recover the body. It was just gone. Poof!"</p><p>The static noise in Hux's head swells to a deafening hurricane. The pilot is still talking, Hux sees his mouth moving but can hardly make out the words he's saying.</p><p>"Bodies get lost all the time--no way he survived--only idiots--dead."</p><p>Hux swallows, his hand moving to his chest where it comes to rest over his frantically beating heart. He's about to throw up.</p><p>"If you'd excuse me," he mumbles, not waiting for a reply as he storms out, Graia's confused calls following him until they too fade away.</p><p>Stumbling out of the stuffy cantina, he's blinded by the light reflecting off the sand, cutting through his skull like a scorching blade.</p><p>He doesn't make it far. He has left his cane behind in his haste to flee the cantina and his leg is quick to punish him for his heedlessness. It takes no more than half a dozen frantics steps until it gives out underneath him and he falls to his knees with a pained cry.</p><p>His vision is blurry, his stomach heaving and soon enough he's emptying the contents of his stomach into the sand. It's mostly Tarine tea, not yet digested and the bitterness of it has him nearly throw up a second time.</p><p>A human woman eyes him with open disapproval as she passes him, no doubt thinking him just another drunk unable to hold his liquor. Shaking her head at him, she ushers the child standing by her side along, speaking to the curious girl in hushed whispers.</p><p>Hux doesn't care.</p><p>Beneath him, the Tarine tea soaks into the sand, absorbed so quickly by the hungry soil it only takes a heartbeat until all traces of Hux's disgrace have disappeared.</p><p>He wipes his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. Breathe. He needs to breathe.</p><p>It's impossible, he tells himself. Kylo Ren can't be alive. The Resistance would never allow it. He died. On Exegol, the pilot had said.</p><p>What does it matter that they failed to recover his body? Surely, on a planet such as Exegol, there are scavengers aplenty and they’re much quicker to sniff out a rotting body than any scouting troops of the Resistance.</p><p>By the time they had thought to recover Ren's body there would've been nothing left but perhaps a few gnawed-off bones.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Hux wills his frantically beating heart to slow down, and gets up. He’s careful not to put too much weight on his bad leg though it’s of little use; the sharp pain shooting through his weakened muscles almost strong enough to have him keel over once more. Sheer stubbornness is what keeps him upright and he adjusts his clothes with black stars dancing in his vision.</p><p>Kylo Ren is dead, he assures himself as he brushes dust and sand off his cape. And he's alive.</p><p>"Armitage?"</p><p>Graia's voice is unusually soft, laced with a concern that has the fine hairs on the nape of Hux's neck stand up in alarm.</p><p>He turns, finding her standing in the cantina's doorway, her hands clasped tightly around his forgotten cane.</p><p>"I apologise," he says, trying for a reassuring smile that—judging from Graia's expression—fails to evoke anything but further concern. "The air in there, it didn't become me."</p><p>He makes his way over to Graia, refusing to show any of the pain flooding his system as he puts a little too much weight on his leg.</p><p>"Are you sure?" Graia asks, clearly not buying his cheap excuse. She does, however, hand him his cane without him having to ask. He takes it with a grateful nod.</p><p>"Perfectly fine," he assures her.</p><p>Kylo Ren is dead, only still alive in Hux’s memories, to torment him in his sleeping hours. There’s no need to worry. He's safe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Somebody is waiting for him where the sea of sand meets the horizon.</p><p>The figure is dressed in simple cloth, covered from head to toe, their face obscured by a coarsely knit shawl. But the eyes...Ren knows these eyes.</p><p>They're not brown, not like he expected. They don't belong to the Scavenger but they're familiar all the same: a steely grey with flecks of green and blue concentrated around the iris. A merciless gaze. Arrogant. Haughty.</p><p>The man—and Ren is certain it's a man—lifts his head, looking at something beyond the visible world, and the hood of his cape falls away.</p><p>His hair is red.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and encouraging words on the last chapter! I haven't yet gotten around to replying to them all, but I promise I will!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>IX. Friends</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He knows when he's dreaming; an ability he possesses since his early youth. It's not a useful skill per se but it helped make the long and lonely nights spent studying under Luke's tutelage easier to bear. Especially when he learned how to influence his dreams, force his subconsciousness to show him what he wanted to see.</p><p>Only this time, it doesn’t work. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot twist the images his overactive imagination is conjuring to fit his own tastes.</p><p>He's a silent wanderer in the night, trudging through dunes of inky black sand that pulls at his feet like a living thing.</p><p>Above him, the sky is littered with stars and constellations he faintly remembers. It’s a sight not seen in many, many weeks. There are no starry nights on Exegol. </p><p>Their light shouldn't be enough to illuminate the path lying before him and his skin should be crawling from the merciless cold, but it's a dream and dreams don't follow the rules of the waking world. They should, however, bend to his superior will and allow him to end this nonsensical journey, to sink into a deeper and dreamless sleep.</p><p>Left with no choice, he grits his teeth and keeps walking; walking until the sun comes up behind the horizon and bathes the world in pink light.</p><p>The desert is no more familiar at dawn than it is at night and Ren knows with certainty that he's never been to this place when he was awake. With the same certainty, he also knows that it is real, not a conglomerated construct conjured by his mind and stitched together from memories of places he's visited.</p><p>There's no sound, no gentle whisper of the wind, or the crunching of sand beneath his heavy steps, even the ever present noise of blood rushing through his veins and pulsating in his ears is gone.</p><p>Where am I? </p><p>He wants to scream the question into the empty air but finds he can't. His vocal cords no longer obey him and his tongue lies useless in his mouth. Patience, he realises, is what is needed now; until his physical body startles awake and his mind has no choice but to follow.</p><p>And patience, as it is, has always been a resource he possessed precious little of.</p><p>His strides grow larger, his pace more urgent until he's running, his eyes fixed on a horizon that refuses to move any closer. Anger is swelling in his chest, threatening to consume him whole, when a movement to his left catches his attention. A lock of hair swaying in the wind, the colour of Kriin-wood and impossibly fine.</p><p>He comes to an abrupt halt, almost losing his footing when he whips around to find...nothing.</p><p>There's nothing. Only the desert stretching infinitely before his eyes and taunting him with its infinity.</p><p>Where are you?</p><p>The question echoes in his mind, his gaze frantic as he moves in circles, searching for the girl he knows he saw.</p><p>The scavenger. Rey. The one who took everything that once was his. The one who made a mockery of him when she gave it back and left him on Exegol to piece together the broken pieces of his existence.</p><p>Is this your doing?</p><p>Had she felt it when he came back to himself, lying in the dirt at the feet of what once used to be Palpatine's throne? Is she aware that he’s alive? And is this one last indignity he has to suffer before he's allowed peace of his own mind?</p><p>No. She lacks the cruelty to devise such a scheme. And the control over the Force needed to infiltrate his mind and twist his thoughts in such a way.</p><p>But who else-</p><p>His thoughts come to a screeching halt when pain explodes in his chest, piercing through his heart and lungs and stealing his breath away.</p><p>He watches as his tunic melts away, reduced to ashes by the lightsaber blade protruding from his chest, hissing like a Loth-cat, the first sound he's heard since finding himself trapped in this impossible dream.</p><p>The lightsaber is his, the one he cast away so willingly and now it has returned to him. Fondness washes through him, mingling with the pain. He has half a mind to touch it, see if his fingers would be burned like his tunic, but then the saber is moved and he has no choice but to move with it.</p><p>Unable to hold himself up any longer, he falls to his knees.</p><p>He follows the line of the saber with a heavy gaze, up to the tip that points at the horizon like a compasses' needle, showing him the way while, at the same time, robbing him of the strength to walk it.</p><p>Somebody is waiting for him where the sea of sand meets the horizon.</p><p>The figure is dressed in simple cloth, covered from head to toe, their face obscured by a coarsely knit shawl. But the eyes...Ren knows these eyes.</p><p>They're not brown, not like he expected. They don't belong to the Scavenger but they're familiar all the same: a steely grey with flecks of green and blue concentrated around the iris. A merciless gaze. Arrogant. Haughty.</p><p>The man—and Ren is certain it's a man—lifts his head, looking at something beyond the visible world, and the hood of his cape falls away.</p><p>His hair is red.</p><p>Ren awakens with a start, his chest pulsating with pain where he's dug his own nails into the skin in his sleep. The sheets are wet with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and chin. Pale morning light is seeping into the room, accompanied by a gust of chill air that has the hairs on his arm stand up.</p><p>He knows what he has to do.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Perik finds him a few hours later, frantically working on the TIE Fighter Ren had all but abandoned.</p><p>"You missed breakfast," he says in greeting.</p><p>Ren gives a low grumble in reply, too preoccupied with the TIE Fighter's haywire interface wiring to acknowledge Perik's arrival any more than that.</p><p>The TIE Fighter had already been on the verge of falling apart when he arrived on Exegol and the many months it lay idle did little to improve its condition.</p><p>He's been here since the early hours of the morning, unable to fall back asleep after his dream; taking the ship apart and putting it back together again to the best of his abilities, replacing defective parts with those he has earned in the service of Perik and his people.</p><p>The work is bothersome and frustrating—not all the parts he has at his disposal were meant to be used in a TIE Fighter—but it allows him to focus and leaves no time for brooding.</p><p>"Your students," Perik continues, not deterred by Ren's brusqueness, "they came to me, asking your whereabouts."</p><p>Ren scoffs.</p><p>"Is that so? Are they not glad the Force-user with his unnatural abilities has decided that the time has come for him to leave?"</p><p>He can hear Perik shifting closer, the heavy fall of his steps all too familiar by now.</p><p>"Words spoken in fear and out of ignorance," Perik argues. "Surely you can understand that in those without any knowledge of the Force your little demonstration of power would provoke quite a violent reaction?"</p><p>Of course these Force-nulls would be intimidated by his abilities, Ren won't deny that, but it's not on him to teach them understanding.</p><p>"They're wondering if you'll forgive them," Perik says, infuriating Ren with his casual tone.</p><p>He straightens up, the repairs on the TIE Fighter momentarily forgotten as he regards the man before him. As usual, a gentle smile is playing around those thin lips, and Perik’s hands casually folded behind his back as he looks at Ren before his gaze shifts to the half-repaired TIE Fighter.</p><p>If he's curious about what has possessed Ren to start working on it now, after so many months of idleness, then he's smart enough not to voice his thoughts.</p><p>"There's nothing to forgive," Ren tells him.</p><p>Forgiveness would require for him to feel betrayal at their lack of trust and the quickness with which they were willing to cast him aside. There's nothing to forgive because Ren doesn't consider their opinions important enough to let them hurt him.</p><p>Perik hums in apparent understanding.</p><p>"Then I take it it wasn't their hasty judgement that led you to finally start work on your ship?"</p><p>Ren hesitates, his fingers tightening around the hydrospanner he's holding like a weapon.</p><p>"No," he admits, elaborating no further before he returns to his work.</p><p>"Where will you go then?" Perik asks, his voice at once concerned and intrigued.</p><p>"The nearest planet with a spaceport," Ren mumbles in reply, unwilling to share any more than that.</p><p>Thankfully, Perik doesn't prod further.</p><p>"That would be Lehon. But Ren, without a hyperdrive core such a journey would take you days, if not weeks."</p><p>A legitimate objection and a problem Ren himself is certainly aware of.</p><p>"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, old man."</p><p>Food and water Ren can bear to go without, at least for a certain amount of time, long enough to reach Lehon. Or so he hopes.</p><p>Oxygen, however, he can not so easily abdicate.</p><p>He huffs softly, wrecking his mind for a solution to this dilemma that refuses to come. Next to him, Perik shuffles his feet.</p><p>"Is there anything else?" Ren asks, eager to get rid of the man.</p><p>"Just one more question," Perik says jovially. "When will you leave us?"</p><p>Ren almost drops his hydrospanner. </p><p>"What does it matter?"</p><p>"Believe it or not Ren but there are people who would like to bid you farewell; people who have grown rather fond of you over time."</p><p>Ren huffs a dry laugh, his back turned already as he leans over the TIE-figther's control panel.</p><p>"And who would that be?" he asks, hissing when an electric spark hits his cheek.</p><p>"I would," Perik says without hesitation. "Your students as well. They don't hate you nearly as much as you presume. And then there's Pip of course. Have you told them you'll leave?"</p><p>Ren falls silent.</p><p>The child would miss him? What reason would they have to? What reason would anybody have to miss him, apart from the pair of strong, helping hands he could offer the villagers?</p><p>"You'll find another to repair your plumbing," he says, adamantly avoiding Perik's imploring gaze.</p><p>"Perhaps," Perik allows, his voice softer than Ren has ever heard it. "But that's not why people will miss you."</p><p>Ren stays put, keeping his eyes fixed on the durasteel plating he's trying to repair, until he can hear Perik shuffling away, his steps slowly but surely fading into nothingness.</p><p>When he's gone, Ren releases the breath stuck in the back of his throat for the entirety of their conversation.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He works until what little of the sun that’s visible through the ever-present storm clouds is high in the sky, and the tips of his fingers are tingling from how often he has burned himself with the hydrospanner.</p><p>His lips are dry and his stomach is growling, reminding him that he has neglected to feed himself so far. Shaking his head, he forces himself back to work. The TIE Fighter's interface is still not working and he hasn’t so much as started on the half-rotten flight suit crammed into the cockpit’s only storage box. Food can wait. </p><p>Another hour passes in which he makes only little progress, the urge to simply throw his tools aside and storm off growing by the minute.</p><p>The flight suit is by far his greatest concern. No matter how many spare parts he has at his disposal, without at least two oxygen tanks to spare he won't make it very far before suffocating in his own ship.</p><p>It's doubtful that anybody in the village has what he’s looking for; Perik's people don't traverse the stars and they have little need for oxygen tanks or masks. The only time he ever saw one was when Melas, the villager's only kettle farmer, left to bring his pair of nerfs down from the mountains, where they spent the warmer months of the year.</p><p>"Thin air," Melas had remarked upon Ren's curious gaze, before turning away to call for his trusty shepherd dog.</p><p>He could certainly ask Melas if he’s willing to trade his oxygen supply, for whatever is in Ren's possession that strikes his fancy. Though Ren doubts he owns anything of value that'd make Melas consider such an offer. </p><p><br/>After Melas openly questioned Perik’s decision to let Ren stay after his little...mishap during training, it’s unlikely that the man would willingly part with any of it, even if Ren offered the long lost Royal Casket of Alderaan itself as compensation.</p><p>Anger flares up in his chest, a feeling of helplessness that settles uncomfortably in his bones, at the notion that his leaving the planet is dependent on the whims of a man as simple-minded as Melas, fearful of everything he doesn’t understand.</p><p>But Ren needs to go. To Jakku. A flash of red cuts through his vision, the illusion of red hair dancing in the dry desert breeze.</p><p>Hux. The name echoes through Ren's mind, the single syllable vibrating in his chest even though he doesn’t dare speak it out loud.</p><p>The disgraced general is alive and somehow, Ren is not surprised: a man so stubborn, so hellbent on survival not even the fall of the First Order could extinguish the flame of his existence. A rabid cur, Snoke once called him and Ren is bound to agree.</p><p>He'll find him, Ren promises himself. Track him down and confront him, face that arrogant sneer that Ren could never fully wipe off his face no matter how harshly he punished Hux for his unbending will.</p><p>Even after taking everything from him, after making him into little more than a servant meant to follow Ren for his own amusement, he was secretly plotting Ren's downfall. A spy for the Resistance, how laughable.</p><p>Ren flexes his hand, watching as the veins protrude as he balls it into a fist.</p><p>He'll find Hux and then...then what?</p><p>"Ren!"</p><p>Startled, he whips around, ready to defend himself from whoever called for him with such anger in their voice, only to find Pip, red-faced and huffing, coming at him with wide strides.</p><p>"Pip," Ren acknowledges briefly, his wandering gaze pausing at the half-dried streaks of tears on their cheeks. "Did your father sent--"</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me?!" Pip interrupts without mercy, their hands balled into tiny fists as they come to stand in front of Ren, voice heavy with accusation.</p><p>"Tell you?" Ren echoes, one brow raised.</p><p>"Don't act dumb now!" Pip sobs. Fresh tears have collected in the corners of their eyes, threatening to spill, when they reach up to wipe at them with the hem of their too long sleeve. "You're such a liar!"</p><p>He is, there's no denying that, but Ren can't recall an instance in which he has lied to Pip of all people. Not since their initial meeting.</p><p>"How so?"</p><p>If possible, Pip's round face turns even redder and Ren can't help but be impressed by the force of their anger and the ripple it sends through the Force.</p><p>"You didn't tell me you're leaving! Papa told me! You wouldn't even have said goodbye, would you?!"</p><p>The reason for Pip's anger is unexpected, to say the least, and Ren finds himself in equal parts confused and annoyed to be subjected to it.</p><p>"Why would you care?" he asks, about to turn back to his ship when an insistent tug on his sleeve holds him back.</p><p>"Why would I care?!" Pip hisses, pulling at Ren's arm with surprising force. "Because we're friends! And friends tell each other everything!"</p><p>Ren is taken aback, his surprise so all-encompassing he doesn't have the presence of mind to shake Pip off.</p><p>Friends. This peculiar child considers him their friend. Him. Ren.</p><p>The longer Ren's silence lasts, the more tears make their way down Pip's cheeks and he realises he’s woefully ill-equipped to deal with a child's tears.</p><p>His own tears he has always despised, and the ease with which they came.</p><p>But the shimmering drops clinging to Pip's lashes aren't tears of anger, not entirely. They're also tears of desperation, of betrayal, of sadness.</p><p>Why, Ren wants to ask, would you mourn my parting so?</p><p>"You've shown me how to hold a sword," Pip reminds him, as if they read Ren's mind.</p><p>It's true. He has, on occasion and only when struck by boredom, taught Pip after another day spent drilling his students. It was so much proper training, as it was a few helpful suggestions as he watched Pip swing around one of the rusty vibroblades. How to hold it; how to swing it without risking to cut your own arm off; how to parry an opponent's strike. Perik disapproved of Ren teaching his child skills of war, and Ren likes to believe that this is why he did it at all, to spite the man and see how far his hospitality truly extended.</p><p>"That doesn't make us friends," Ren points out. It barely even makes them student and teacher.</p><p>Pip's expression darkens further and with a force Ren didn’t expect, they punch him in the side.</p><p>"You're such an idiot, Ren!" they cry out, their tiny fist shaking as they take another fury-fuelled swing at him. This time, though, Ren is prepared.</p><p>"What did I tell you about leaving yourself vulnerable to attacks?" he asks and grabs Pip's arm, lifting it high up over the child’s head, flicks a finger against their forehead.</p><p>Traces of anger are still visible on Pip's face, their eyebrows drawn together and their cheeks puffed up in a pout, but there's also grumbling acceptance and a sliver of hope.</p><p>"You told me to either become strong enough to neutralise an enemy with one blow or start using my weapon not only as a tool for offense but also defense."</p><p>Ren nods and lets go of Pip.</p><p>"So you do listen to me once in a while, how unexpected."</p><p>Silence settles over them like a shroud and for one blissful moment, Ren allows himself to hope that this was it. That Pip would leave him alone, too hurt to attempt salvaging a friendship Ren didn't know existed until mere minutes ago.</p><p>Pip will be fine, of that Ren is certain. They're still young and easily distracted. No doubt, their anger will morph into indifference soon and then Ren will be nothing but a distant memory, a short anecdote in Pip's life that wouldn’t require any reminiscence.</p><p>Tomorrow, Ren swears to himself, he'll be gone.</p><p>But Pip doesn’t leave him alone. They stay, hands balled into tiny fists, one of them holding a small duffel bag Ren is only noticing now.</p><p>"You're not getting rid of me so easily," Pip says with the finality of those young enough to still believe that their words hold such binding power.</p><p>"And you're not going to forget me!"</p><p>Forget Pip? </p><p>Is that what this child was so worried about? That Ren could forget them so easily? And here he thought it would be the other way around, he no more than a passing fancy, a curious novelty enough to entertain Pip until another, more intriguing subject presented itself. The irony is not lost on him.</p><p>"How could I?" he wonders aloud, watching Pip out of the corner of his eyes. "What with you constantly reminding me of your existence?"</p><p>His words aren’t kind per say but Pip's tears are drying quickly nonetheless and a hesitant smile blooms on their face—washed for once and appropriately pink.</p><p>"Jerk!" Pip laughs and thrusts the mysterious duffle bag into Ren’s open hands. "Let's eat already, I'm starving."</p><p>Dumbfounded for the briefest of moments, Ren only stares at the bag in his hand that, up close, is emitting the mouth-watering smell of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.</p><p>"I didn't actually want to share any of it with you," Pip admits. "Not after papa told me you’re leaving us."</p><p>They shuffle over to the TIE Fighter, eyeing it curiously before crawling into the cockpit and making themselves comfortable in the worn-out pilot's seat.</p><p>"A little stuffy, isn't it?" Pip wonders aloud, short legs that don’t quite reach the ground dangling back and forth.</p><p>It is, Ren can't deny it. Even more so for a man of his size and build. Another inconvenience he will have to deal with during his journey.</p><p>"TIE Fighters weren't built for extensive space traversing," Ren explains, surprising himself with his willingness to share his knowledge on the subject.</p><p>If Pip shares his surprise at Ren’s uncharacteristic chattiness then they don’t show it. Instead, they look at him with wide eyes, wordlessly begging for him to continue the impromptu lecture.</p><p>"They were built for battle. Speed over comfort, agility over endurance. They don't even possess a hypercore, or life-support systems."</p><p>Pip frowns. "How are you gonna survive travelling to the next spaceport then? Hold your breath and hope for the best?"</p><p>Ren throws Pip a warning glare. The child sure has recovered quickly from their initial tantrum—already comfortable enough to dare and tease Ren again.</p><p>"TIE Fighter pilots are required to wear life-suits that provide them with oxygen. The life-suit of this ship is more or less intact, though the oxygen tanks used to replenish it are empty."</p><p>Pip nods along to his explanation. Whether out of politeness or because they’re actually understanding what he’s talking about, Ren can’t say. It doesn’t matter. Pip is hardly blessed with the technical know-how to magically present him with a solution to this rather pressing problem, their skill as a scavenger notwithstanding.</p><p>"And what are you gonna do about it?" Pip asks after some silent contemplation, too busy playing with the controls of the TIE to notice Ren's irritated expression.</p><p>And therein lies his predicament: He doesn't know, and all the scenarios he's made up and analysed in his head have yielding the same predictable result: he's stuck.</p><p>"I'll figure something out," he tells Pip, too prideful to admit that he is, once more, dependent on the mercy of strangers.</p><p>Pip looks up at that, expression unreadable, and then simply shrugs.</p><p>"I'm sure you will. Now can we eat already?"</p><p>They eat not far from the TIE, sitting atop a small hill that allows Ren to keep an eye on the ship, and Pip to gaze out into the distance.</p><p>Their meal is simple but delicious, every bite filling Ren with comforting warmth. There are few things he'll miss once he's left Exegol but these home-cooked meals will certainly be among them.</p><p>Next to him, Pip hums a little tune as they chew, and Ren knows that the comfortable silence has come to an end.</p><p>"Why now?" Pip asks, seemingly out of nowhere, eyes still on the horizon.</p><p>Ren doesn't need to ask to know what they mean: Why is he leaving now? Why not already two days, two weeks, two months ago? Why now and why at all? And only implied: What has changed?</p><p>Silence falls once more but Ren has no hopes that this means Pip will let it rest. Like their father, Pip has learned by now that Ren will give his answer in his own time, if he gives one at all.</p><p>Ren has no desire to justify himself in front of Pip. His reasons are his own and beyond a child's understanding. But then again, what difference would it make? Once he’s made his departure, leaving this cursed planet behind, they'll never see each other again. He knows this with the same certainty he knows the colour of his own eyes and the colour of the setting sun. If he leaves, then he won't come back.</p><p>It's the will of the Force but what does that mean to a child?</p><p>"There's somewhere I need to go," Ren says. The words come slowly, his tongue having turned to lead inside his mouth. "Someone I need to find."</p><p>At that, Pip perks up, their eyes filled with childlike wonder.</p><p>"A friend?"</p><p>Ren shakes his head.</p><p>"No. Not by far. It's..." He hesitates. "Complicated."</p><p>A friend. The notion in itself is laughable. It's not a bond of friendship that binds him and Hux together. Their relationship has always been marked by mutual resentment, rather than respect.</p><p>"I hated him," he admits.</p><p>"Then why do you want to see him?"</p><p>It's a fair question and Ren should've expected it coming.</p><p>Why indeed? Vengeance, he tells himself, only to immediately discard the idea.</p><p>It's not vengeance that drives him. He knows the particular taste of vengeance well, the feeling of suffocating heat simmering in his belly. It's not what he's feeling when he thinks of Hux now.</p><p>Is it answers he seeks? Answers only Hux would know? No, that's not it either. He has questions, many of which he will most certainly never receive an answer to, but could Hux answer at least a precious few of them? Maybe, maybe not. It makes no difference to Ren. Answers are not what he hopes to find either.</p><p>So what is it, that makes him so desperate to find a man who he only ever treated with contempt?</p><p>Ren swallows the last bite of his bread and gets up, not meeting Pip's eyes when he straightens to his full height.</p><p>"Because he's all that's left of a life I no longer live."</p><p>He leaves before Pip can make sense of his words or demand clarification, hurrying down the path leading him back to the half-repaired TIE Fighter.</p><p>For better or worse, he'll find Hux.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Night has already fallen when he finishes work for the day, more out of necessity than any desire for a break. It's getting too dark. He can barely see his hand before his own eyes when he lifts it in front of his face. Less than ideal conditions to work on something as delicate as the interface of a TIE Fighter.</p><p>Admitting defeat, he makes his way back to the village and Perik's home, careful not to arouse any attention when he slips inside the house and into his room.</p><p>He has no desire to speak to anybody, least of all Pip. Not after their conversation on the hill and with the echo of his own foolish words still plaguing his mind.</p><p>Usually, he would've showered after such a long day and then meditated in the shed the family jokingly called their bath house. But today he can't be bothered. He falls into bed with his clothes still on, reeking of sweat and dirt no doubt and soiling the clean linens Pip's mother must have put on after he left the house in a hurry.</p><p>Pushing any guilt he might have felt at his atrocious manners aside, he closes his eyes, hoping against hope that this time his sleep shall be dreamless, that no vision of red hair and cold eyes will torment him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ren wakes the next morning, his sleep having been blissfully void of prophetic dreams and vision. The only complaint he has is the stinging pain in his lower back. It's a common occurrence, the bed was simply not made with somebody of his proportions in mind.</p><p>A quick look outside reveals that it's early: the fog of the night has yet to lift, cloaking the world in its grey morning dress.</p><p>Good, Melas won’t  have left to tend to his tiny cattle consisting of only two nerfs. Ren will have enough time to go and barter with him for the oxygen tanks he so desperately needs.</p><p>As a cattle farmer, Melas lives on the far outskirts of the settlement, preferring the company of his animals to that of Perik and his people. Ren can't fault him for that. In his own experience, humans and other sentient lifeforms have always proven to be decidedly irritating.</p><p>There's no bad blood between Melas and the villagers as far as Ren knows. After all, Melas was one of the few volunteering to be trained by Ren and do his part to protect his fellow people from any possible dangers that could befall them.</p><p>He’s well liked for that alone. And he’s a welcome sight when he comes to the small plaza they call a market place at least once a week to trade milk and cheese for grains and other necessities. Despite that, he prefers to be left alone, only rarely welcoming visitors onto his land.</p><p>The path to Melas' farm is not a well-travelled one for that very reason, overgrown with gnarly roots that not even the nerfs deem suitable for consumption, and Ren can't say he's particularly enjoying the journey.</p><p>When the outline of the farmhouse finally materialises on the horizon, he's irritated and in no mood to barter.</p><p>Yet barter he must.</p><p>He spots Melas sitting on his front porch, rubbing his overly excited dog’s belly. A fine watchdog the beast makes. It hasn't so much as glanced at Ren, not caring for the intruder in their midsts in the slightest, when there are belly rubs to be had.</p><p>Melas too only acknowledges his arrival when Ren comes to stand directly before him, blocking out the early morning light. When he looks up to take Ren in, he seems indifferent, his weatherworn face betraying no surprise or irritation at finding Ren of all people on his doorstep.</p><p>Ren hasn’t forgotten that it was Melas who raised objections when Perik showed no intentions of casting Ren out, after the unfortunate incident during training. And judging from Melas’ somber expression, neither has he.</p><p>Ren half expects to be sent away or worse, have Melas’ dog chase him all the way back to the settlement, but after some tense silence, Melas merely nods in greeting before getting up on his feet. </p><p>They're almost of the same height, able to look each other into the eyes but that's where their similarities end. Long hours spent outside have made Melas more robust, his body more compact. He’s still no warrior—as the many hours Ren wasted trying to teach him how to hold a blaster have shown. </p><p>"Didn't expect you so soon to be honest, but it's just as well,” Melas huffs, catching Ren off-guard. “Let’s get it over with."</p><p>He turns without explanation, casually making his way over to a shed adjacent to the farmhouse and leaving a stunned Ren behind.</p><p>Melas expected him?</p><p>"Ren, I haven't got all day."</p><p>Ren blinks and meets Melas' incredulous gaze with open bewilderment.</p><p>"You do want those oxygen tanks, don’t you?" Melas asks, one bushy brow raised.</p><p>Ren follows, too puzzled to object, and finds himself in the dusty shed a few moments later, cradling an oxygen tank in each arm.</p><p>"There you go," Melas says, a pleased expression on his face, before he quickly ushers Ren outside.</p><p>They make their way back to the low gate separating Melas' property from the rest of the world, accompanied only by the excited yapping of the dog.</p><p>"I don't understand," Ren says at last, staring at the wide expanse of Melas' back.</p><p>Melas throws Ren a look over his shoulder that is at once exasperated and amused.</p><p>"Of course you don't." He clicks his tongue. "Cause you can't imagine anybody being kind to you just for kindness' sake."</p><p>Ren bristles. "Don't take me for a fool, Melas. There's no love lost between us. I know you despise me and fear my powers."</p><p>"Is that what you think, Ren?" Melas scoffs.</p><p>Ren stays quiet, wordlessly challenging Melas to dispute his claims, to assure him that that's not the case at all, though they both know the truth.</p><p>"I don't hate you, don't be ridiculous. How could I after everything you've done for the village? For us?"</p><p>The gravel shrieks underneath his feet when Melas turns to meet Ren's inquisitive gaze, his meaty fists pressed into his sides.</p><p>"No, I could never hate you. I do, however, think you're the biggest karking asshole in the known galaxy and I won't shed a single tear once you're gone. And that's that."</p><p>Ren stares, struck speechless, before he can’t contain himself any longer and pearls of laughter fall from his lips. The sound is distorted, as if his vocal cords can't quite remember how to produce a sound as peculiar as laughter after such a long time.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eyes, Ren sees Melas' composure faltering, his proud expression shifting into one of confusion as sweat starts to bead on his high forehead. Ren can't fault him for it. Laughter isn't something that comes easily to him and it's undoubtedly not the reaction Melas was expecting after his heated confession. Centering himself, Ren takes a deep breath to reign in the hiccups of laughter still trapped in his throat and trying to escape his mouth. </p><p>"You're lucky, Melas," he tells the farmer. "The man I once was, he would've killed you for such an affront."</p><p>"It's a good thing then, isn't it?" Melas argues, wiping sweat off his forehead. "That you're that man no longer?"</p><p>His words, though spoken from a place of fear, give Ren pause. If he's not that man anymore, then who is he? What kind of man has he become? What does Melas see when he looks at him? What Perik? What Pip?</p><p>Do they all see the same thing or is there a fundamental difference between their individual perceptions of him?</p><p>Who is Ren?</p><p>What answer would each of them give to this question?</p><p>Who are you?</p><p>What answer would he give?</p><p>He doesn't know.</p><p>"It is," Ren mumbles, his good humour all but gone, though he feels like he owes Melas at least that much for his kindness: validation.</p><p>It's the right thing to say. Melas' expression softens and he nods, visibly pleased, before he unlocks the gate for Ren.</p><p>"Tell Pip I held up my end of the bargain. I expect them first thing tomorrow morning, to uphold theirs."</p><p>Already halfway past the gate, Ren's steps falter at the mention of the child's name.</p><p>"Bargain? What kind of bargain?"</p><p>Bewilderment blooms on Melas' face before quickly being replaced by understanding and the unmistakable glow of being struck by a realisation Ren is still largely ignorant to.</p><p>"So that's how it is, huh?" Melas uses, stroking the patchy stubble covering his chin that, in his imagination, must constitute a beard. "Pip didn't tell you."</p><p>"Didn't tell me what?" Ren snaps, his hold on the oxygen tanks tightening.</p><p>"You think I gave you these out of the goodness of my heart?" Melas asks, indicating the tanks with a jerk of his head. "You have to thank Pip for that. They showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, babbling something about TIE Fighters and destiny and asking for my emergency oxygen tanks."</p><p>"And you gave them to Pip?" Ren presses, slack-jawed. "Despite knowing that they were intended for me?"</p><p>"I gave them away because for reasons I can't fathom, Pip is terribly fond of you and I can't bear to see the little squirt sad.”</p><p>"And what's in it for you?"</p><p>"You mean besides finally getting rid of you and your mercurial moods?"</p><p>Ren doesn't dignify that with an answer.</p><p>"In return for the tanks, Pip agreed to help out at the farm."</p><p>Melas is content with this deal, Ren can sense it: the sluggish swirl of satisfaction curled all around him in the Force. But there's more to it than the usual smugness that comes with a successful trade, something deeper and hidden from the casual observer: a genuine desire to help.</p><p>Ren stands, petrified, with confusion rippling through him at every breath.</p><p>What kind of reason would Pip have to make a deal like that? One that only Melas and Ren himself would profit from?</p><p>Because we're friends.</p><p>Pip's words echo in his mind, unbidden and unexpected, and Ren is seized by such violent urgency, he almost stumbles over Melas' hound in his hurry to leave.</p><p>"I have to go," he tells Melas, not bothering to wait for a reply before he starts running, eyes fixed on the horizon.</p><p>He has to go. He has to find Pip.</p><p>"Farewell, Ren! Try not to get yourself killed out there. Pip would be inconsolable," Melas calls after him, laughing at his own joke, but Ren is already gone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It has started to rain, fat, heavy drops of water falling into his eyes and clinging to the tips of his hair.</p><p>He can't find Pip anywhere.</p><p>He's asked around the village and received only shrugs and confused stares. He searched Perik's house and found no trace of the man or his offspring.</p><p>Thunder tears the sky apart and lightning bathes everything in silvery light for the briefest of moments before the village is plunged into a darkness as deep as night again. The few people still lingering outside are quick to run for shelter, ignoring Ren and his questions in favour of the familiar warmth of their hearths. Soon, the only window not illuminated by the golden-red hue of a fire is that of Ren's host.</p><p>Where could Pip be?</p><p>Scavenging, Ren's mind helpfully supplies. It would be wise, to make the most of their last day of freedom before being bound in service to Melas. </p><p>Pip's actions confuse Ren still, his logical mind not yet fully grasping Pip's reasoning for helping him so when there was nothing to gain for the child themselves.</p><p>"You're gonna catch a cold if you don't get inside!" an elderly man missing several teeth is shouting at him, perched up on a seat by the window of his small hut.</p><p>Ren doesn't bother to tell him that he's faced enemies far greater and deadly than a bit of rain.</p><p>He needs to find Pip.</p><p>There are ways to do it. Techniques he barely remembers, fragments of knowledge passed onto him in gentle words meant to be encouraging. As a boy, he only ever found them condescending.</p><p>Paying the old man still watching him from the safety of his house no mind, Ren closes his eyes and breathes in.</p><p>The Force moves through all living things and all living things move through the Force. When things move through the world, they leave a trace, an echo, a faint trail anybody who knows what to look for can follow.</p><p>It's easier, following the trail of Force-sensitives, their auras are brighter and the marks they leave more permanent. Ren remembers how easy it was to find the girl once he knew what to look for, how she left a trail of blazing light wherever she went. He used to wonder if she could see him as well and what it looked like to her when she closed her eyes.</p><p>Pip is not Force-sensitive and therefore, their trail is not as easy to find; the whole endeavor is made even more complicated by Ren's fragile mastery of the technique he's attempting. He and Pip, there's no dyad that binds them, that would allow Ren to seek the child out more easily, perhaps even read their thoughts and speak to them through the Force. All he can do is try and plug at the endless strings wrought throughout the Force, in hopes that one will lead him to Pip.</p><p>Where are you?</p><p>He sends the question out into the Force, hoping for an answer that doesn't come. But it's not all in vain. No one answers him but he can feel a tug at his chest, like somebody trying to beckon him closer by pulling at the hem of his clothes. And Ren remembers then, what Luke once told him that the Force will guide those looking for a path.</p><p>Ren's almost certain Luke was speaking of metaphorical paths back then, of enlightenment and destiny, but it seems the Force can be more practical than that when needed.</p><p>Another tug and he opens his eyes, lashes heavy with tears clinging to them, to follow the irresistible pull.</p><p>He should've known he'd find Pip here, he thinks as he slides down the steep slope leading him to his TIE Fighter.</p><p>Mud is clinging to his boots and rain running ice-cold down his spine but Ren doesn’t let the unpleasant feeling slow him down.</p><p>Even through the heavy rain he can see the targeting lights of the TIE Fighter blinking in erratic patterns, alerting every living thing within a three-klicks radius to its position.</p><p>"Have you lost your mind?!" Ren snaps when he's close enough to see Pip sitting in the pilot's seat, the rain collecting in little puddles to their feet.</p><p>"Being out here in this weather? Playing with the controls of the ship that is supposed to get me off this planet? What if those Sith fanatics would've seen you? What--"</p><p>Pip slams into him with all the force their underdeveloped body can muster, punching all the air out of Ren as they cling to him like a bearsloth.</p><p>They're barely tall enough to reach his chest, their face pressed into the flat planes of his belly instead, seemingly not caring for the soaked-through fabric of Ren's shirt clinging to their skin.</p><p>Brows furrowed, Ren looks down at the child, at a loss for what to do. Pip is not attacking him, as he first suspected. Pip is...they're hugging him.</p><p>Pip is hugging him, unwilling to let go even when Ren gently (and he can't remember the last time he had to be gentle with anybody) tries to pry Pip off him.</p><p>"I don't want you to leave," Pip confesses, their grip on Ren's shirt tightening. "I know you must. I know that you can't stay here with us forever, I know all that, I'm not stupid. But I don't want you to. I don't."</p><p>When Ren reaches out, his hand is shaking.</p><p>What words are there that he could offer as comfort? He's not going to lie to this child, though lying he knows how to do well. He's going to leave and he's not going to come back. He knows it with the same certainty that he knows the sun is rising in the morning and setting in the evening.</p><p>And yet...</p><p>"Pip," he mumbles and it's perhaps the first time he addresses them by their name and not some unflattering nickname like squirt and shrimp. "You know I must."</p><p>Pip sniffles in reply.</p><p>"There's somebody waiting for me," Ren tries to explain, his tongue feeling like lead inside his mouth. "I've wasted too much time already. I can't let them get away."</p><p>"I know that," Pip whispers, their nasal voice betraying the tears they've, so far, successfully hidden from Ren.</p><p>Ren can't help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.</p><p>"You know a lot of things, don't you?"</p><p>"I do," Pip insists. "Which is why I know this is all totally pointless. The whole crying and complaining and stomping my feet. You have to leave. You have a mission and I'm not going to change your mind."</p><p>"Pip--"</p><p>"It's fine. We'll still be friends. It doesn't matter where you are, or where I am. Friends are friends. Right?"</p><p>They look up, face wet with tears and the rain, bare the streaks of dirt and oil that usually adorn their innocent features.</p><p>Ren doesn't hesitate. </p><p>"Right."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Fateful Meetings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ren hesitates. Where to? A good question. He could go anywhere. As far away as the two are willing to take him, even further if he used his powers to force people to do his bidding. He could return to Exegol and live a life as a farmhand and occasional mechanic. He could go to Coruscant and make a living as a mercenary. He could even go and join what's left of the Resistance, atone for the many crimes he has committed and for which he doesn't quite feel any remorse.</p><p>He straightens up in his seat and holds his chin up high.</p><p>"Jakku."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once more, I have to apologise for the late update! I literally forgot to upload this chapter last Sunday because I'm a dumbass! Thank you so much, all of you who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter!</p><p>Hopefully this one won't disappoint either.</p><p>PS: This will be the last chapter upload for this year. I'll go on a little mini-hiatus until the new year so I can enjoy the holidays and get some more writing done. Hope that's alright!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>X. Fateful Meetings</strong>
</p><p><br/><br/><br/><br/>Lehon’s spaceport is—and there's no polite way to phrase it—an absolute shithole. Barely even big enough to deserve the moniker of spaceport, it still boasts an impressive biodiversity consisting of rats, cockroaches and other vermin that usually roam such places: men either looking to get drunk or to make money.</p><p>Their thoughts are primitive, revolving around eating, sleeping and fucking. It makes them little better than the critters scuttling around their feet and Ren is sorely tempted to crush them under his boots as if they’re exactly that.</p><p>Even with his hair a greasy mess and himself reeking of old sweat, he makes for a more sophisticated sight than the thugs and guns-for-a-hire populating the spaceport. And though he can feel the many pairs of curious eyes following him as he makes his way to what he assumes is the spaceport's only cantina, Ren isn’t worried.</p><p>Let them look their fill, let them seethe with jealousy at the rich fabric of his cloak—a present from Perik's wife Himil, which she had knit herself and wordlessly handed to him upon his departure—and the bag filled to the brim with scrap metal and ancient parts that Pip insisted Ren take with him in lieu of credits. Should anyone be foolish enough and try to take what little valuables he has off him, believing him to be an easy target, then Ren won’t hesitate to show them the error of their ways.</p><p>The days spent cramped inside the small cockpit of a TIE Fighter, trapped in an ill-fitting life-suit and breathing only recycled air, have left Ren a prickly mess. He's itching for a fight, for an opportunity to let off some steam, to get rid of all the excess energy electrifying his skin. All he needs is an excuse.</p><p>Disappointingly, nobody gives him one. They stare, they whisper amongst themselves, some even bare their teeth at him when he walks past, but for better or worse nobody dares do more than that.</p><p>The cantina is much like every other: dirty, every conceivable surface covered in grime and sticky remnants of spilled drinks. The taproom is dimly lit and the patrons are a colourful mix of humanoids and more exotic creatures.</p><p>His heavy bag hits the bar counter with a dull thud, loud enough to draw the bartender's attention.</p><p>"Any idea where I could get rid of this?" Ren asks, pushing the bag over so the man can have a look at its contents.</p><p>The bartender—a human woman with forearms as thick as Ren's own—raises a brow at him before giving his collection an appraising look.</p><p>"Durasteel." She whistles. "And a lot of it. Should be easy enough to sell, if you ask me. Those other parts you have there though? Only worth something to a collector and we don't have many of those here."</p><p>"It doesn't matter," Ren tells her, having already deduced as much. "As long as it's enough for a sonic and a ride out of here."</p><p>"Tell you what," the woman argues, leaning over to eye Ren's collection of scraps more closely. "You can have a sonic and a meal for a handful of that." She points to what, once upon a time, must have been the behavioural chip of some Imperial droid.</p><p>She has a good eye for value, Ren has to give her that. The chip is inlaid with veronium, a precious metal worth more than the durasteel, which he has in abundance.</p><p>"A sonic, a meal and the name of a reliable pilot that can get me out of here," Ren barters.</p><p>He has considered simply taking a ship—he's a good enough pilot after all—but most ships meant for far distance travel require at least one co-pilot.</p><p>Unblinking, Ren holds the woman's impervious gaze. Of course, he could always try and mind-trick her into giving him what he wants, but the Force can be a fickle beast and after days surviving on little more than water, he'd rather not risk her resisting his attempts at manipulation. Pip gave him the scraps for a reason; he better make use of them.</p><p>"Deal," the bartender says, hand already reaching for her payment. Ren lets her have it.</p><p>Lifting the rusty chip up and holding it against the light, she jerks her head, pointing him to the back of the bar.</p><p>"Past the zabrak tables and down the hallway. Door to the left, tell them Hiris sent you. Dinner will be ready when you come back."</p><p>"And the name you promised me?"</p><p>"That one I'll have as well."</p><p>Sensing no deception from her, Ren gets up and makes his way to the back of the bar. He half expects a secret brothel or a dog fighting ring—both common sights in these kinds of establishments—but all he finds as he walks down the hallway is a grumpy Weequay guarding a nondescript door.</p><p>"What?" he hisses when he notices Ren.</p><p>He's not intimidated by Ren, though, if his eyes almost popping out of their sockets are any indication, then he's at least intrigued.</p><p>"Hiris sent me," Ren tells him, too exhausted to be annoyed.</p><p>Instantly, the man's expression brightens.</p><p>"Oh, I see," he coos, in what Ren assumes is his attempt at a customer service voice. "Please allow me to unlock the door for you then. When will your companion join us?"</p><p>Ren halts, confusion washing over him before realisation hits. So he hadn't been entirely wrong. Not a brothel per se but a refuge for those engaging in illicit affairs.</p><p>He shakes his head and, seized by a sudden bout of mischievousness, smirks at the Weequay.</p><p>"Companions," he says and shuts the door in the alien's perplexed face.</p><p>The sparsely furnished room is far from the lavish brothels Ren has seen during his travels with the Knights. Perfunctory more so than extravagant, with a spacious bed and an ensuite bathroom that's barely big enough to stand in. </p><p>He's tempted to not only shower, but also make use of the bed. The linen looks clean and he hasn't slept for more than two hours in the last five days.</p><p>But sleep is not what he came here for, he reminds himself. Throwing one last, lingering look at the bed, he turns away and heads into the bathroom.</p><p>Sonic showers are joyless, dull affairs, not at all comparable to water showers and Ren finds himself yearning for the customised shower he called his own when he was still with the First Order. Even then early morning baths in the river running behind Pip's house on Exegol were more enjoyable than this, despite the freezing temperature of the water.</p><p>If nothing else, the unpleasant vibrations of the sonic keep Ren from wasting more time in the bathroom than absolutely necessary. He emerges after a few minutes, feeling, if not particularly refreshed, then at least cleaner. And he still has a hot meal to look forward to. That is, if Hiris is going to keep her end of the bargain.</p><p>The doorman jumps when Ren steps out of the room and throws him a questioning look that goes ignored. Ren’s hunger is a far more pressing issue than a random alien's unsated curiosity.</p><p>Hiris spots him as soon as he sets foot back into the taproom. She's no longer behind the bar, but standing next to one of the few corner booths. A pair of twi'leks is seated there, openly staring at Ren when Hiris winks him over, almost dropping the tray filled with bowls of steaming hot food she's carrying.</p><p>Hiris hasn’t promised too much. When Ren slides into the booth, his mouth is already watering. Whatever it is she has cooked up, it smells divine.</p><p>"I see you had your shower," Hiris says, putting down a bowl in front of Ren. "So here's your promised meal and your promised names."</p><p>Hiris points at the two twi'leks who, as Ren realises now that he can get a closer look, are twins.</p><p>"This one's Aeol; this one's Boeot,” she introduces them. "And with that my duty is done and my debt paid."</p><p>She straightens up, the now empty tray tucked under her armpit, and heads back to her bar. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t offer Ren a farewell or any words of advice. It’s just as well, Ren has not expected her to. Their deal is done.</p><p>"Aeol and Boeot,” he repeats, looking back and forth between the aliens sitting across him.</p><p>They’re young, that much Ren can tell, long-limbed and no doubt nimble, with narrow waists and slender fingers. Their skin is a pale grey colour, streaked with a powdery pink. It’s no wonder twi’leks are such prized possessions amongst slave traders, Ren thinks. The two are indeed quite striking.</p><p>"The other way around actually," the one sitting on the left speaks up, his teal eyes bright with mischief.</p><p>"Nobody ever gets it right," his twin agrees. "And what are we supposed to call you? Hiris said you're looking for a ship to get you out of here and that you're willing to pay for it, but she never told us your name."</p><p>"That's because I never gave it to her," Ren says. "But she didn't lie to you. I need transport and I'm willing to pay for it."</p><p>Boeot, and Ren is sure it's Boeot—the two may be twins but even twins differ in the Force, their signatures varying ever so slightly—breathes a contemptuous huff.</p><p>"Transport to where exactly?"</p><p>Ren hesitates. Where to? A good question. He could go anywhere. As far away as the two are willing to take him, even further if he used his powers to force people to do his bidding. He could return to Exegol and live a life as a farmhand and occasional mechanic. He could go to Coruscant and make a living as a mercenary. He could even go and join what's left of the Resistance, atone for the many crimes he has committed and for which he doesn't quite feel any remorse.</p><p>He straightens up in his seat and holds his chin up high.</p><p>"Jakku."<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>Ren jostles awake when the ship lurches, causing his stomach to drop and his dreams of the desert and sea to quickly fade away.</p><p>"Sorry!" Aeol calls from the cockpit, throwing Ren a quick look over his shoulder before refocusing his attention on piloting the ship.</p><p>It's an old thing, not quite unlike Han Solo's Millennium Falcon and Ren's not sure whether he likes the familiar outline or not. If nothing else, it makes it easier to navigate the freighter.</p><p>Ren gets up from the narrow bench he repurposed as a bed, unwilling to stay in the crew quarters where it would be too easy to fall into deep slumber and make himself vulnerable to eventual attacks. Aeol and Boeot weren't exactly eager to bring him to Jakku and only agreed to the arduous journey when he offered them his TIE Fighter in addition to the entire contents of his bag. It wouldn't surprise him, should they decide to simply take the payment and throw him out of the nearest airlock.</p><p>Ren huffs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Truly marvelous how that panned out. </p><p>"Get back to sleep, big boy," Boeot says, eyeing him with faint amusement before he turns back to help his twin fly the ship. "It’s only an asteroid field."</p><p>Ren pays him no mind. He gets up, pulling the cape he used as a blanket around his shoulders.</p><p>"Have we dropped out of hyperspace?"</p><p>"Only momentarily," Aeol says. "Too tricky to try and navigate it in hyperspace."</p><p>Too tricky for him maybe, Ren thinks, though he doesn't voice his thoughts. He's tempted to go and ask Aeol to let him try, his fingers twitching at the prospect of flying, even after days of travelling through space, crammed in a TIE Fighter not much bigger than a tin can.</p><p>He refrains, reasoning with himself that even if Aeol allowed it, his brother would never agree to co-pilot for him.</p><p>Boeot is wary of him for reasons Ren can't quite fathom. His thoughts are well-guarded and Ren doesn't dare try a foray deeper into his mind and risk revealing himself as Force-sensitive. All he knows is that Boeot keeps looking at him when he thinks Ren is too distracted to notice, the expression on his face that of a man trying to figure out who Ren's face reminds him of.</p><p>He hasn't given them a name and the twins haven't asked, too professional to pry, and not caring as long as they're getting paid, but if an old man on a remote planet can figure out his identity then surely it's not unreasonable to believe that two men travelling the whole galaxy can put two and two together and do the same.</p><p>It's a distinct possibility, but there's little Ren can do. Irksome as it is, he’s dependent on the pair. Of course, he could kill one and try to force the remaining twin to do his bidding and navigate the ship with Ren, but he'd prefer not to have to employ such methods.</p><p>Should one or both of them realise who he is then he can always wipe their minds clean of any memory of his person, once they've reached their destination.</p><p>Speaking of which...</p><p>"How long until we arrive on Jakku?" Ren asks, walking up behind Aeol and putting a hand on the pilot's seat as he gazes out into infinite space.</p><p>They're still navigating the asteroid field, dodging the floating remains of a star long gone.</p><p>"My, somebody is eager to get to that planet," Aeol whistles, throwing a look at his brother who nods in stern agreement. "What could you possibly want there? Nothing but dust and sand to be found on Jakku."</p><p>"Didn't I pay you not to ask any questions?"</p><p>Aeol is staring, Ren can feel it. His skin prickles where the twi'leks curious gaze rests on him.</p><p>"You paid us to get you to Jakku, my friend. No questions would've cost you extra."</p><p>Cheeky but Ren expected little else from the likes of Aeol and Boeot.</p><p>"A TIE Fighter wasn't enough to buy your silence?" he counters, one brow raised as he stares down at Aeol.</p><p>"Perhaps if it wouldn't have been half a century old," Aeol argues. "Had you offered one of those First Order TIE Fighters, well, things might have been different and I might have not asked about Jakku. Beautiful little ships, aren't they, Boeot?"</p><p>He breathes a dreamy sigh, his eyes glazing over as he stares out into nothingness, mind clearly no longer on the path ahead, but far away, too occupied with the sleek, black finish and the elegant simplicity of TIE Fighters to pay the asteroid field right in front of them any attention. It's a good thing that his brother is not quite as easily distracted, though he too seems to hold some fondness for the First Order's TIE Fighters, if his softening expression is any indication.</p><p>"Lovely," he grumbles as he reaches over to adjust the course, else they'd risk collision. "Good craftsmanship, kriffing fast too. Wouldn't mind taking a ride in one of those."</p><p>It's the most Ren has heard him talk since they finalised their deal and Ren boarded the twin’s ship.</p><p>"They're not as easy to navigate as a freighter," Ren can hear himself saying, much to his own dismay.</p><p>He's a fool. He's not supposed to share such sensitive information with anybody, least of all a pair of twi'lek smugglers who'd sell their grandmother for a credstick.</p><p>"Or so I've heard."</p><p>Too late, the brothers' curiosity is piqued, their auras bright in the Force as they turn in unison and stare at him in wide-eyed wonder. Even Boeot's stoic expression has morphed into one of hesitant intrigue.</p><p>"And where would you have heard that?" he asks, the tips of his lekku twitching slightly. "You former First Order? Heard a lot of them deserted after Crait. Fed up with all the banthashit."</p><p>Ren's hand, already half raised, ready to wipe the minds of these two and pretend this conversation never happened, falls back onto the pilot’s seat with a dull thud.</p><p>"Yes," he says, meeting neither of the twin's gazes. "I used to be First Order."</p><p>The easiest lies are always the ones closest to the truth.</p><p>Aeol whistles appreciatively.</p><p>"So you were one of those TIE Fighter pilots? No wonder you didn't want to tell us your name. They don't really give you any there, do they? It's all just random letters and numbers."</p><p>Not random. On the contrary. But Ren has neither the knowledge nor the desire to go into details on the classification system that gave the stormtroopers and pilots of the First Order their ID tag. It never seemed important enough to learn. They were mere cannon fodder to him anyway.</p><p>Hux would've known. Could have broken down the meaning of every letter, every number of an ID tag and recited the entire file of the trooper it belonged to off the top of his head. He used to be good for things like these: details.</p><p>Ren does neither confirm nor deny. He shrugs, allowing the twi'lek to draw his own conclusions.</p><p>"We could give you a name," Aeol suggests, taking Ren's silence for affirmation.</p><p>"Or we could go back to flying this ship," Boeot grumbles next to them, doing his best to keep them on course while his brother is too busy chattering to do his job.</p><p>Aeol waves him off.</p><p>"A man needs a name, brother. He can't be just a number."</p><p>Ren breathes a wary sigh. How many more names are people going to give him? How often will he have to endure being called by a name not his own because others presumed to choose for him?</p><p>He has a name. A good name, a strong name. A name he took from him who held it first and was undeserving of it and then made his own.</p><p>"What do you think of Dinek? A strong name for a strong lad."</p><p>Ren's displeasure must show on his face for Aeol is quick to disregard the idea with a huffed laugh.</p><p>"Alright, alright, I get it: not your cup of tea. A little too old-school perhaps? How about Bibfort then?"</p><p>"Wasn't that the name of grandma’s Loth-cat?" Boeot interjects, clearly as fed up with his brother's antics as Ren.</p><p>"Was it?" Aeol wonders, tapping a fingertip against his cheek in contemplation. "Now that won't do. Can't have people call you by your name and have every pussycat in the vicinity turn its head."</p><p>Ren blinks, unable to hide his astonishment at the twi'lek’s train of thought.</p><p>"As much as I appreciate the input, I'd rather choose my own name," he says dryly and leaves it at that. "I will rest some more. Wake me when we have arrived on Jakku."</p><p>He turns without waiting for a reply, but judging from Aeol's chipper voice that follows him as he walks back to his bunk, his presence is hardly missed and his dismissal of Aeol's name suggestions already forgotten.</p><p>Shifting on the bunk until he finds a position that isn't too uncomfortable, he wonders if he'll dream of Hux again and if he, perhaps, will call Ren by his name. He always has. He was the only one who would.</p><p>His slumber is dreamless. It's the first time this happens since he woke up all these months ago on Exegol.</p><p>No flashes of red hair torture him, no blue-grey eyes that silently accuse him.</p><p>He should be grateful, being granted blissful oblivion for a few hours, yet all he feels when Aeol gently nudges him awake is dread.</p><p>"This is your stop, big boy," Aeol says. "Niima Outpost."</p><p>Ren blinks sleep-crusted eyes open.</p><p>Jakku. They're on Jakku.</p><p>Somehow, he expected to feel different. To feel something other than the lingering fatigue that always comes with too long a rest.</p><p>He thought he'd sense Hux.</p><p>Brushing the disappointment aside, Ren rolls to his feet and gathers up what little belongings he has: his cape, the now empty bag, his blaster.</p><p>As he walks down the loading ramp, flanked by Aeol and Boeot, the smouldering heat almost knocks him off his feet.</p><p>"Lovely," Boeot grumbles as he lets his eyes wander. There are already beads of sweat collecting on his high forehead. He turns to Ren, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. "Hope that TIE Fighter was worth it."</p><p>Of course he would think Ren made a fool's bargain, paying them passage to Jakku of all places. And as Ren takes in his bleak surroundings, he can't help but agree. Is this it? Sand and heat and desperation?</p><p>He doesn't look at Boeot when he answers.</p><p>"That remains to be seen."</p><p>"Well," Aeol interjects, chipper as usual and thoroughly unimpressed by Ren's cryptic words, "whatever you're looking for here, good luck finding it. There's nothing but desert as far as the eye can see."</p><p>Grinning, he licks off the sweat that has collected above his upper lip and gives a two-fingered salute.</p><p>"Personally, the only thing I'm eager to find is the nearest cantina." He turns to Boeot. "Come brother, I'm dying for a bottle of ice-cold Daro root beer.”</p><p>There are no parting words, no tearful promises that they would see each other again. The only farewell they share one last lingering look, before the twins round the nearest corner and are gone.</p><p>It's just as well, Ren thinks.</p><p>Their use for him has exhausted itself and their obligation to him only extended to this very spaceport.</p><p>Alone at last, Ren allows himself to take in his surroundings. To call it a spaceport is generous. All Ren can see are a handful of ships, most of them out of order, judging by their looks. What few ships there are that are not just junk, he can count on one hand, including the very ship that brought him here.</p><p>Closing his eyes, he allows his senses to expand beyond the physical. For all it's desolate appearance, Jakku is vibrant in the Force: colourful, pulsating with an energy that's warm and cooling at all once. It's a glittering net that covers Jakku's surface and every strand leads somewhere else worth exploring. It's so very different from Exegol with its oppressive aura hailing from the Dark Side. It's light, playful. It's everything he once hated.</p><p>To an extent, he still does. The gentle glimmer in the Force seems to mock him, so weightless and light while in the physical world, Ren can already feel his clothes sticking to his skin, drenched in sweat.</p><p>He takes a deep breath, almost choking on the dry air that's heavy with particles of sand.</p><p>No distractions, he admonishes himself as he forces himself to relax, to allow the Force to flow through him, to guide him.</p><p>It hits him like a tidal wave, the smell of her dark hair and the crystal clear sound of her laughter which he has only heard once, only when he pulled her back from the land of the dead.</p><p>The scavenger girl.</p><p>She used to live on Jakku, he knows that; he also knows that what he senses is merely an echo of her presence, etched into the very essence of this planet. A star so bright it makes him want to avert his eyes, until he remembers that they're closed already. </p><p>Does she know of these traces she left? Ren doubts it. She lived in ignorance of her powers for most of her life, discovering her powers only when their paths crossed.</p><p>Ren opens his eyes, blinking away the dots dancing in his vision, until all the colours have faded black to the browns and greys of Jakku.</p><p>The first step is hesitant, halting. He's not looking for a girl. He's looking for a man so devoid of any Force-sensibility his presence in the Force is like a black hole, but he cannot feel him. Not like he can feel the girl. And so he follows the path she has unknowingly left for him all these years ago, when she walked the unforgiving surface of Jakku.</p><p>As he makes his way through Niima outpost, he's once more glad for his cape and the nimble fingers of Perik's wife that tirelessly worked on it so that he might be protected from the seasons.</p><p>Despite the heat, Niima outpost is busy. Vendors have erected their stalls around a stone well filled with murky water, the air alive with their voices as they cry their wares. There are children running around, expertely dodging the grabbing arms of their parents, laughing as they hide beneath wooden crates. In the distance, Ren spots what he assumes is a cantina and a few primitive houses made from red clay.</p><p>But this is not where his path leads him. It's the desert that calls him.</p><p>Shouldering his empty bag, he steels his resolve.</p><p>"And where are you going?"</p><p>Ren turns, perplexed, and stares into the face of a woman.</p><p>She's old, her wrinkled face covered in sunspots that speak of a life lived in the sun. Her eyes though, are sharp and intelligent, sizing Ren up with unabashed curiosity.</p><p>"You can't just walk into the desert," she goes on, hands on her hips and chin raised high. "You're going to die out there."</p><p>Ren huffs a humourless laugh.</p><p>"I'm not afraid of dying. I've died before. I cannot recommend it."</p><p>He can feel her confusion, a prickling feeling at the back of his neck that he ignores. Not waiting for a reply, he leaves.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>The Jakku desert is of a deadly beauty: shimmering like molten gold in the sweltering sun and overseen by a sky so blue it blinds one. There are sinkholes hidden underneath the sand and Ren almost meets an unfortunate end when he unassumingly steps into one.</p><p>He's more careful after that, though the slower pace he adopts doesn't agree with his impatience. With every step he makes, the scavenger girl's presence in the Force grows stronger, luring him in like an opee lured in bait. He knows, without a doubt, that he's not going to find her at the end of his journey. He knows, with the same unwavering certainty, that he must follow the path laid out for him anyway.</p><p>He walks for what feels like an eternity, though in reality, it could’ve been no more than an hour, judging from the position of the sun and how little it has moved while he was climbing sand dunes and avoiding sinkholes as best he could. </p><p>What little water he carried with him in a small flask is gone by the time he perceives the blurry shapes of what appears to be the rusty remains of an AT-AT on the horizon. Toppled over and nestled in the curve of a sand dune, it looks not like a machine but like a mighty beast, asleep and unaware of the approaching stranger.</p><p>This, Ren realises is where the Force has led him. This is where the scavenger used to dwell and this is where her presence lingers the strongest.</p><p>He forces himself to walk faster despite his exhaustion, until he can make out not only the AT-AT but also the outlines of a speeder bike parked not far from it. It's an old thing but well-maintained. Somebody is living here, out in the desert, with nothing but the rustling wind as company.</p><p>Anticipation settles deep in Ren's stomach, his heart beating so loudly he can hear it echo in his ears.</p><p>Almost there. Just a few more steps.</p><p>He almost stumbles twice, momentarily distracted by what appears to be a shrine or a grave, put together with durasteel scraps and offerings of dried flowers and twine adorning it.</p><p>Ren doesn't make it to the latch that doubles as a door.</p><p>Stepping out into the sun, his hair blowing in the wind, so disturbingly devoid of its usual product, is Hux.</p><p>Time comes to a screeching halt as Ren looks at the man he once considered a detested rival, a persistent thorn in his side and then, at last, a mere annoyance, an afterthought in his pursuit of greatness.</p><p>He looks different now. Or maybe he doesn't look different at all and it's only that Ren has never bothered to truly acknowledge him, to allow himself to notice the unusual colouring of his hair, the sickly pallor of his skin or the delicateness of his wrists.</p><p>Were his eyes always this shade of green or was it the light that made them appear so?</p><p>Ren doesn't see the shot coming. If he had, then he would have deflected it and ripped the blaster out of Hux's hands with a flick of his wrist.</p><p>The pain is excruciating. Not quite as agonising as the shot from the bowcaster of the Wookie—that was a whole new world of pain—but enough to send him to his knees.</p><p>He's lucky: Hux missed any vital organs, hitting him in the shoulder instead. Painful, yes, but not lethal.</p><p>The second shot he's prepared for and he deflects it easily enough but that doesn't seem to deter Hux. He keeps the blaster raised, finger on the trigger as he takes in Ren's crumbled form with a cold fire burning in his eyes.</p><p>Ren doesn't dare speak, not even to call out to Hux by his name. Hux, he knows, is like a cornered animal, vicious, a rabid cur, ready to lash out at anybody and anything. Let him take the first step, Ren will be ready to meet him.</p><p>He expects Hux to try and shoot him again, to release bolt after bolt in hopes of one slipping past Ren's defenses.</p><p>Instead, Hux drops his blaster, letting it hang uselessly by his side, and sighs.</p><p>"What do you want, Ren?"</p><p>Ren, he's calling him Ren, and though it shouldn't, it fills him with pleasant warmth, being called by his chosen name with such ease.</p><p>"Hux, I..." he tries, only to trail off.</p><p>What answer could he give that would satisfy Hux?</p><p>"You're alive," he says instead, as if it's a surprise, as if he hasn't been plagued by dreams of him for months now. As if the sole reason he came to Jakku wasn't the tentative hope of finding a piece of his former life here, no matter how unwanted that piece had always been.</p><p>Hux raises a brow, quite clearly not impressed with him. But when was he ever? The disdain is almost comforting in its familiarity.</p><p>"So are you," he points out. He doesn't have the decency to hide the disappointment in his voice, not that Ren can blame him.</p><p>"Well," he adds after a tense moment of silence. "Might as well come in. I just put the kettle on."</p><p>Ren, taken entirely off-guard, stares in unconcealed astonishment.</p><p>"Huh?" he mumbles unintelligently.</p><p>"Tea," Hux explains impatiently, as if that would be enough to clear up all of Ren's confusion. "I'm making tea. It cost me an arm and a leg and I'm not going to let it go to waste only because you decided to come back from the dead. Now are you coming or not?"</p><p>Ren gets up on shaky feet, one hand pressed against the wound on his shoulders.</p><p>"I'm coming."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Conversations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The facts are these: Ren is alive. Ren has, somehow, found his way to Jakku and Hux's doorstep. Ren hasn't tried to kill him. Yet.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello there~</p><p>I'm back! First of all, Happy New Year to all of you!</p><p>Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, I was really overwhelmed by the amount of love you've shown me and this fic! Hopefully this first new chapter of 2021 doesn't disappoint either.</p><p>As always, a huge thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> for reading over this chapter and providing invaluable feedback!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XI. Conversations<br/><br/><br/></p><p><br/>Kylo Ren has changed. On a physical level, at least. His hair, though as full and inkly black as it has always been, is longer and tied into a messy bun that threatens to come loose at every tilt of his head. His clothes aren’t the dark robes he once favoured, but a simpler ensemble consisting of a pair of  cream-coloured trousers and a loose shirt underneath an embroidered cape that drapes beautifully over his wide shoulders.</p><p>The scar that used to bisect Ren's uneven face, it's gone.</p><p>Hux grumbles into his cup of tea.</p><p>If Ren thinks a missing scar could make his features any less distinctive then he's sorely mistaken.</p><p>"Hux..."</p><p>Gripping his cup tighter, Hux cuts him off with a sharp glare and finds himself surprised when Ren shuts his mouth with a resounding click.</p><p>Not yet, Hux thinks. He doesn't want to hear Ren's voice. He doesn't want to hear an explanation as to how he survived. How he made it here. How he found Hux. Why Ren would even bother at all to look for him. None of that.</p><p>Hux takes another sip of tea, relishing the bitter burn at the back of his throat as he swallows.</p><p>The facts are these: Ren is alive. Ren has, somehow, found his way to Jakku and Hux's doorstep. Ren hasn't tried to kill him. Yet.</p><p>Setting the now empty cup aside, Hux lets his gaze drift from Ren's too expressive face down to his hunched shoulder. Blood has dyed the cape a rusty brown and its fabric is frayed where Hux's blaster bolt has ripped a hole into it.</p><p>In another life, such an attack would've led to swift retaliation—Hux remembers the horror of invisible fingers slowly closing around his throat all too well. So what does it mean then, when in the here and now, Ren hasn't so much as lifted a finger?</p><p>"I don't care how you survived," Hux tells him, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm not interested in lengthy and no doubt exhausting explanations. I have only one question: what do you want, Ren?"</p><p>A myriad of conflicting emotions flickers in and out of existence on Ren's unblemished face, ranging from anger to surprise to actual hurt, before settling on something closely resembling desperation.</p><p>"You're alive," Ren says, after opening and closing his mouth several times without a single, coherent word making it past his lips.</p><p>"I am," Hux agrees, "but not thanks to you."</p><p>Ren has the rare decency to meet Hux's accusing gaze head-on, never once blinking or averting his eyes in a false display of shame.</p><p>"How?" Ren asks next and there it is at last: the smug arrogance that Hux has come to associate with him.</p><p>"I don't owe you an explanation, Ren. I owe you nothing at all."</p><p>Palpatine is gone. Snoke is gone. The First Order is gone. There's no one left in the known galaxy who holds any power over Hux, least of all Kylo Ren.</p><p>"Perhaps not," Ren allows after an uncomfortable silence, catching Hux off-guard with his unexpected sobriety. "Indulge me nevertheless? Please."</p><p>It's the first time Hux hears Ren plead. But no, that's not quite true, is it?</p><p>He has heard it before. In a grainy holo recording he recovered from the Supremacy after Snoke's demise and Ren's ascent to the throne; spoken with tears in his eyes and a shaking voice. The girl had denied Ren back then, not fooled by his crocodile tears, and Hux is sorely tempted to follow her example.</p><p>But Ren's voice lacks that artificial softness with which he had tried to beguile the scavenger. There are no tears, no trembling lower lip or an outstretched hand. On the contrary, Ren merely sits and waits, showing a patience Hux has always believed him incapable of. </p><p>Breathing a sigh of defeat, Hux tells him what he wants to know. Not every detail, of course not, only so much that it would satisfy Ren's curiosity. He mentions neither Adea nor Ro, feeling strangely protective of the people who have offered their help and given their lives for him when there was nothing to gain in return. He doesn't tell Ren about Graia or Rex and he doesn't tell him about the little life he has built for himself here on Jakku.</p><p>Ren doesn't ask questions—surely, he could take everything he wanted straight from Hux's head—but he listens intently, his eyes following the movements of Hux's lips during his deliberations.</p><p>"Pryde told me you were the spy," Ren says once Hux has fallen silent.</p><p>It's not a question, but Hux feels inclined to reply nevertheless.</p><p>"Don't tell me that surprised you? Not even you can be so foolish."</p><p>Ren shakes his head, his messy bun on the verge of coming undone at the motion.</p><p>"I thought your loyalty to the First Order eclipsed any petty rivalries."</p><p>Anger flares up in Hux's chest, bright red and burning.</p><p>"My loyalty to the First Order was irrefutable! But you Ren, you weren't the First Order. You were an usurper, a charlatan, chasing after this girl and risking it all because she had bested you in battle!"</p><p>The footstool Ren has been sitting on falls to the floor with a dull thud, lying there unheeded as Ren rises to his full height.</p><p>"Your actions led to the downfall of the First Order! Without your intel the Resistance would’ve never--"</p><p>Hux doesn't let him finish.</p><p>"My actions?! Who wasted weeks, no, months chasing after shadows?! Who brushed off any concerns over the Resistance gaining more and more support from the core worlds!? Who let them destroy the Finalizer and take back Batuu?! You did. The fall of the Order came by your hands, Ren. Not by anybody else's. Now stop pretending that you ever cared about any of it. You would've gladly given it all to the flames had it brought you your precious scavenger girl!"</p><p>Hux expects Ren to lash out, to use his mystical powers to throw him into a wall or choke all life out of him. Hux expects him to reach for that infernal weapon of his and reduce his modest home to cinder and ashes. And indeed, Ren's fingers are twitching, his first instinct is to resort to violence.</p><p>Hux follows the movement of Ren's hand with sharp eyes, ready to pull his blaster when the realisation hits him: There’s no lightsaber.</p><p>Resting in a holster dangling from Ren's hip is only a blaster—a model older than even Hux's—and nothing else. Ren must have realised it as well. He freezes, his hand hovering in midair as he returns Hux's wide-eyed stare with an equally baffled expression.</p><p>"Ren," Hux whispers, unable to avert his eyes. "Where's that ridiculous weapon of yours?"</p><p>The lightsaber Ren carried with him wherever he went had always been a fickle thing, as unstable as its owner and just as likely to explode in his face as it was to cut through an enemy. It wouldn't be at all surprising to hear that it finally succumbed to its shoddy construction.</p><p>Standing close enough the tips of their noses are almost touching, it's impossible to miss the faint blush creeping up Ren's neck.</p><p>"The whereabouts of my lightsaber needn’t concern you," he snaps.</p><p>It's hardly convincing. Ren's voice lacks its usual bite, carrying with it a note of embarrassment instead, that intrigues Hux against his will.</p><p>"Ren," he asks once more, not so easily cowed, "what happened to your lightsaber?"</p><p>The rosy flush deepens to a fierce red and the sight is such an unusual one, it makes Hux's skin crawl. Ren looks much like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. This isn’t the former Supreme Leader of the First Order, not the fearsome Master of the Knights of Ren. Standing before Hux is a stranger.</p><p>His irritation must show on his face, for Ren turns abruptly, mumbling something under his breath that Hux doesn't catch.</p><p>"What was that?" Hux hisses, irritated by Ren's uncharacteristic behaviour. "Speak up, Ren. Use your words!"</p><p>"I threw it into the sea!"</p><p>Hux shuts his mouth with a resounding click, almost biting off the tip of his tongue.</p><p>"You threw your lightsaber...into the sea," he repeats haltingly when the silence between them grows too uncomfortable.</p><p>Ren, with his back turned, says nothing, but the slight drop of his shoulders at Hux's sharp tone is confirmation enough.</p><p>"You threw your lightsaber into the sea."</p><p>Hux straightens, goes to fetch the empty teacup and walks right past Ren without another word.</p><p>Of course, Ren is not one to simply be ignored. He wouldn't let him leave without an explanation and his previous embarrassment seems already forgotten as he hurries after Hux.</p><p>"Where are you going?!" he demands to know, acting like it is his house they’re in and Hux is the insolent intruder, not the other way around.</p><p>The familiar arrogance is infuriating, though much less disconcerting than the boyish bashfulness Ren displayed earlier. </p><p>Hux throws him a cutting glare over his shoulder.</p><p>"Getting a knife. A shot in the shoulder is far too lenient a punishment for such colossal stupidity."<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>In the end, Hux doesn't shank Ren, reasoning with himself that even without a lightsaber, Ren is still more than capable of killing him if he wishes to.</p><p>He contents himself with a second cup of tea instead, marveling at Ren's idiocy in between sips. He can feel Ren's eyes on him while he drinks, the intensity of it making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ren has yet to move, seemingly  glued to the spot in the middle of what Hux, in his mind, refers to as his living room. </p><p>With Ren standing there awkwardly, taking up most of the already limited space, Hux wonders, not for the first time, what the hell Ren is doing here of all places. He hasn’t come to kill Hux, surprisingly enough. Had he truly wanted vengeance for Hux's betrayal, then no blaster could've hindered him. Ren's physical prowess alone far surpassed Hux's, loathe as he is to admit that. Not to mention Ren's mystical Force powers that could put an end to Hux's miserable existence within seconds.</p><p>But why then, would Ren travel half the galaxy, if not for revenge?</p><p>Well, Hux thinks as he finishes his tea, one thing certainly hasn't changed: Ren's motivations still elude him.</p><p>It shouldn't be as comforting a thought as it is.</p><p>Whatever Ren's reasons for coming here, Hux has wasted enough time on him. He has work to do, credits to earn and neither the time nor the patience to wait for Ren to decide what exactly it is he wants from Hux.</p><p>Hux’s working bench is a piece of durasteel cut by a Devaronian welder to his exact specifications and polished to a shine. It cost him a small fortune and several days worth of rations but, in Hux’s opinion, well worth the pangs of hunger he had to endure night after night until his investment finally started to pay off.</p><p>Neatly lined up on the bench are his tools. Some of them he built himself, others he exchanged for repair services or portions. It's nowhere near as sophisticated as what he used to have at his disposal as a general, but good enough to make a living with.</p><p>Sitting atop the durasteel is his latest commission: a s-ACE unit, often used by the scavengers here on Jakku. These units are small, lightweight and equipped with a repulsorlift engine that allows them to glide over the sand without risking to fall trap to one of the many sinkholes large the Jakku desert is riddled with.</p><p>The repulsorlift of the droid in Hux’s care is broken, rendering it entirely useless to its owner, a wandering merchant dependent on the droid's superior senses to guide them through the desert. Eager to leave Niima Outpost again after selling off all his wares, he offered Hux a good amount of credits should he be able to repair it before the end of the cycle.</p><p>A broken repulsorlift is not easily fixed and though Hux knows that he should be wary of Ren hovering just on the edge of his perception, he quickly falls into his usual working rhythm.</p><p>It's not the first s-ACE unit he's been paid to repair and he's sure it won't be the last either but his experience with this particular model will only get him so far. With Jakku's scavengers' tendency to modify their droids, every job poses a unique challenge for Hux.</p><p>"A s-ACE droid?"</p><p>Hux very nearly drops his hydrospanner.</p><p>Shockingly enough, Ren is still here and Hux comes to the terrifying realisation that, for one critical moment, he has forgotten all about him. By all means, it should be impossible. Ren isn't a man ever to be ignored, his menacing aura and overwhelming physicality bound to draw the attention of anyone unlucky enough to be in a room with him.</p><p>Something about Ren has changed, his presence no longer the suffocating darkness it once was. </p><p>Hux tightens his hold on the hydrospanner, refusing to give Ren the satisfaction of having caught him off-guard.</p><p>"A s-ACE, yes," Hux agrees in a tense voice, eyes moving back and forth between the droid and the blaster lying next to him on the working bench.</p><p>Ren has stepped closer—far too close for comfort in Hux's opinion—and is now bent over the working bench and eyeing the partly disassembled droid as if he's never seen a s-ACE unit before.</p><p>"You're repairing it."</p><p>It's an innocuous comment, a simple observation void of any malicious intent, and yet something inside Hux snaps.</p><p>Turning, he stares up at Ren, his mouth a thin line, his brows furrowed. He's holding the hydrospanner so tightly in his fist, the veins on the back of his hand stand out in stark white lines.</p><p>"Why are you still here, Ren?! What do you want?! Is it not enough that you've taken everything from me? Do you have to humiliate me even now? Is that why you're here? To gloat?"</p><p>Ren's eyes widen, the surprise at Hux's outburst evident. But instead of matching Hux's anger, he seems to deflate. His wide shoulders curl inwards and he takes a step back, bringing a more respectable distance between them.</p><p>The unusual display of consideration does little to quell Hux's anger. Who is this man standing before him? With his face so boyishly unmarred and his eyes so mournful?</p><p>Hux gets up, his work all but forgotten now. The hydrospanner meets the surface of the working bench with a violent clank as Hux slams it down.</p><p>"Don't you dare look at me like that! Like you have any regrets! You don't get to do that, Ren. You don't get to act like you have any remorse. Gloat if you must. Have your vengeance and kill me if you must. But don't you dare ask for my forgiveness! Because if that's what you're here for then you made the journey to Jakku for naught! I'll give you nothing!"</p><p>Ren flinches at Hux's sharp words but he doesn't back down.</p><p>"That's not it!" he snaps, his hands balled to his fists.</p><p>"Then why, Ren?! Why are you here?!" Hux shouts back at him.</p><p>"Because I have nowhere else to go!"</p><p>Hux shuts his mouth with a resounding click, struck speechless as he gawks at Ren in silence.</p><p>Nowhere else to go, he said, as if that explains it all. As if that were true. As if he wasn't the son of beloved General Organa; as if he couldn't claim all that he's done in the name of the First Order was due to Snoke and his dark influence; as if he wouldn't be granted immunity in exchange for information on General Armitage Hux, father of Starkiller Base, destroyer of the Hosnian system and last remaining member of the First Order's High Command.</p><p>Foolish and soft-hearted as they are, the Resistance would welcome Ren with open arms. Amends he'd have to make, certainly, but his trial wouldn't end in execution. Unlike Hux's own, were he ever to be caught here on Jakku.</p><p>No, Ren's explanation isn't an explanation at all.</p><p>"You--"</p><p>He's cut off by the screeching sound of the hinges of the opening latch as Ren turns abruptly and pulls it open to leave a dumbstruck Hux behind.</p><p>By the time Hux has regained his wits enough to hurry after Ren, the man is already gone. </p><p>When Hux steps out into the desert, there's no sign of Ren to be found. No footsteps in the sand, no hulking figure brooding in the afternoon sun. Wherever Ren went to, Hux won't be able to follow him.</p><p>Let him rot then, Hux thinks, hands on his hips as he glares at the horizon. What concern of his is it, should Ren die of thirst because he couldn't resist the temptation of throwing another one of his beloved tantrums?</p><p>It doesn't matter. Nothing Ren could do at this point does matter.</p><p>Hux breathes a heavy sigh, his eyes hurting from the too bright sun and heads back inside.</p><p>He has work to do and no time to contemplate the foolishness of a man who, by all accounts should be dead.</p><p>Whatever it was Ren was looking for, it's obvious he didn't find it here.</p><p>He works uninterrupted until late into the night, his sight blurry by the time he succeeds in repairing the repulsorlift that turned out to be much more sufficiently damaged than his client initially described.</p><p>It's just as well. The work kept him busy and prevented his mind from swaying in an unwanted direction. If he's lucky, then Ren has already fallen prey to the sinking fields in the north, never to be seen again.</p><p>Hux heads to bed after neatly putting away his tools and the good-as-new droid. Tomorrow, he shall reunite it with its owner, demand his credits and then reward himself with a bag of Tarine tea leaves, given his vendor of choice has it in stock.</p><p>It's the least he deserves, for having survived this, quite frankly, absurd day. </p><p>Sleep refuses to come. Though exhausted to the bone and with his back aching from how long a time he spent hunched over his working bench, Hux's mind refuses to let him rest.</p><p>Shifting from one side to the other in a seemingly futile attempt to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in, he's about to give up and resort to counting sheep when he hears it:</p><p>The grating sound of rusty hinges.</p><p>Instead of reaching for the blaster lying on the pillow next to him, Hux stays put. Even when the sound of careful footsteps echoes through his home, he doesn't move, too tired to care when he knows exactly who came crawling back.</p><p>The rustling of fabric and a soft thud, like a heavy object being set down, is the last thing he hears before silence settles once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Intruder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There are a few things unblemished by Hux’s touch, little trinkets he either did not care enough for to dispose of, or felt obliged to keep despite having no use for them: a small doll, propped up against a flower pot housing a nightbloomer plant in its last throes of death; a paper model of an X-fighter, covered in a fine layer of dust; a pair of goggles with one of the glasses cracked in the middle.</p><p>Ren doesn't touch them. He doesn't need to, to know that they once belonged to Rey.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all: I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but I got my wisdom teeth removed and spent the last two weeks in excruciating pain, yay. And as if that wasn't enough my brain decided it's high time for another depressive episode. Love when that happens.</p><p>I'll reply to all the comments as soon as I resemble a functioning human being again, promise!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>XII. Intruder</strong>
</p><p><br/>
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<br/>
He sleeps undisturbed, his dreams no longer plagued by visions of red hair and green eyes. Almost peaceful. Or it would be if not for the busy clutter and the unmistakable sounds of somebody moving around the rooms.</p><p>Ren opens his eyes with a flutter and sits up, his back aching as he does. He's endured worse than the sandy floor of an improvised hut of course, but that's hardly a comfort.</p><p>Out of sleep-crusted eyes, he sees Hux pacing around the room, dressed in a simple tunic and cape, a roughspun bag slung over one shoulder.</p><p>It wasn't a dream then. Hux is alive and on Jakku, hiding from the Resistance and tinkering with broken droids.</p><p>He's ignoring Ren, acting like the man sitting on his floor isn't there, not sparing him a single glance. Hux is...indifferent.</p><p>For all the years they've known each other Hux has been many things: cold, arrogant, jealous, angry, hateful. But never once indifferent.</p><p>Ren gets up with a groan, making it impossible for Hux to ignore him any longer, and blocks his way when he tries to get to his working bench.</p><p>"Hux..."</p><p>At last, Hux deigns to look at him, his pale eyes red-rimmed and the bridge of his nose dotted with freckles. Ren didn't know Hux had freckles.</p><p>"Out of my way."</p><p>Ren doesn't budge.</p><p>"Where are you going?"</p><p>The glint in Hux's eyes darkens into something murderous, but he has yet to pull his blaster. Ren decides to count that as a victory.</p><p>"None of your business," Hux answers brusquely.</p><p>Ren throws a cautious look over his shoulder, at the working bench behind him.</p><p>"You're selling your skills as an engineer.”</p><p>Judging from the widening of Hux's eyes, it's a close enough guess.</p><p>"I don't have time for this," Hux mumbles, not answering Ren's question, and pushes past him with a soft huff.</p><p>Ren doesn’t stop him, watching with faint amusement instead when Hux stuffs several tools and the repaired s-ACE droid into his bag. Only when Hux is halfway out of the door, a pair of googles sitting on his face, does Ren dare to speak up again.</p><p>"You let me stay," he says, voice low.</p><p>Hux stops dead in his tracks, one hand on the lever that opens the AT-AT's latch. He doesn't turn, doesn't allow Ren to see his face. Ren half expects him to leave without ever giving an answer when Hux sighs.</p><p>"I didn't. You refused to leave and I was too exhausted to argue with you about it."</p><p>"You could've just killed me."</p><p>Another sigh.</p><p>"Did they never teach you not to look a gift fathier in the mouth?" Hux asks, rubbing his free hand over his face. "If you want to die so badly, Ren, then there's no need to aggravate me until I snap and put a blaster bolt through your skull. You could just ask."</p><p>He pauses to throw Ren a look.</p><p>"Speaking of blaster bolts: how is your shoulder?"</p><p>"My shoulder?"</p><p>Right. Hux shot him the other day, without so much as batting an eye. Ren has almost forgotten about the incident, too familiar with pain to give it more than a passing thought.</p><p>He shrugs.</p><p>"It will heal."</p><p>Hux raises a brow (not quite as immaculately as it used to be).</p><p>"Or it will get infected, become gangrenous and then you'll lose an arm," he deadpans. Judging by his unmoving expression, he's not entirely averse to the idea.</p><p>It's unlikely. Ren has endured and survived wounds more grievous than this, pains far beyond anything Hux's prosaic mind could imagine. After all, death itself has rejected Ren. What is a mere blaster wound compared to that?</p><p>"I'll live," he assures Hux, who takes his words with practised stoicism.</p><p>"How unfortunate."</p><p>Adjusting the shoulder straps on his backpack, Hux heads outside without another word. Ren is quick to follow.</p><p>"You're heading to Niima Outpost.".</p><p>Hux huffs, mumbling something under his breath that Ren doesn’t quite catch, and swings himself up on a rusty, but heavily modified, speeder bike.</p><p>"Let me come with you," Ren demands, quickly stepping up to the side of the speeder.</p><p>"Come with me?" Hux echoes as he puts on a pair of goggles. "Don't be ridiculous, Ren. Even if I wanted your company—which I don't—then it'd still be impossible for the two of us to fit onto the speeder.”</p><p>The hover engines give a soft purr when Hux turns on the ignition. It's not a sound Ren would've expected from a machine as clunky as this one. </p><p>"Of course," Hux adds, a smug smile gracing the pink curve of his lips, " You could always try and walk to Niima Outpost."</p><p>He's off before Ren can argue, leaving behind a cloud of dust that has Ren coughing violently. By the time it finally settles and Ren is able to breathe again, Hux is already gone.</p><p>Ren is half-tempted to do as Hux jokingly suggested and follow on foot. He's bested the Jakku desert before, no doubt he could do it again. If only to spite Hux.</p><p>He discards the idea once his initial anger at Hux's behaviour has abated. Instead of an unpleasant walk through the desert, he decides to make better use of his time. He hasn't had any sustenance since his time onboard Aeol's and Boeto's ship, a fact his grumbling stomach is all too eager to remind him of.</p><p>As it turns out, Hux's supplies consist of little more than a handful of ration packs and some dried meat, the origins of which Ren is unable to determine. Suspicious of the dried meat and not so starved he'd sink so low as to eat ration packs, Ren opts for water instead.</p><p>Thank the stars, Hux's water supply is not as measly as his food supply. A dozen bottles of filtered water are stored in a freezer that also doubles as a table, half-covered by a musty blanket. A closer look reveals that Hux has hooked it up to the AT-AT's solar panels, thus supplying it with enough power to keep the precious water sufficiently cold. Quite clever, Ren has to admit. Hux has always been a crafty one.</p><p>The first sip feels like salvation, the water smoothly running down his throat, cold enough to hurt. Within seconds, Ren has gulped down the entire contents of one bottle. </p><p>Invigorated by the water and made restless by a night of too much sleep, Ren makes his way through Hux's home, eager to learn all its secrets.</p><p>He hasn't forgotten that it was the scavenger girl who once dwelled here and her presence still lingers. Ren knows he's not welcome here.</p><p>Having been Rey's for so long, the place considers him an intruder, an enemy. All the more interesting is it then, that Hux chose this place for himself. As if, albeit unconsciously, he was determined to find the one place in the galaxy with a disdain for Ren strong enough to rival his own.</p><p>Curious also, that Hux's presence here doesn't strike a note of discord in the Force. Though this place doesn’t exactly welcome Hux, it at least tolerates him. Hux is a Force-null, but that doesn't mean the living Force can't react to him. </p><p>The darkness in Hux is a bottomless pit and yet this place, which has been bathed in the Light for so many years, doesn't reject Hux, not like it does Ren.</p><p>It's disconcerting, to feel traces of Hux mingling with the unmistakable presence of Rey.</p><p>Last night, Ren was too exhausted and too preoccupied with Hux—so very alive, so very angry at him—to notice this subtle blend. Now, with only his thoughts for company, it's impossible to ignore.</p><p>There are a few things unblemished by Hux’s touch, little trinkets he either did not care enough for to dispose of, or felt obliged to keep despite having no use for them: a small doll, propped up against a flower pot housing a nightbloomer plant in its last throes of death; a paper model of an X-fighter, covered in a fine layer of dust; a pair of goggles with one of the glasses cracked in the middle.</p><p>Ren doesn't touch them. He doesn't need to, to know that they once belonged to Rey.</p><p>The things Hux has deemed interesting enough to touch and use are of a more practical nature. There's a toolbox, neatly tucked into a corner next to the working bench, that Hux must use rather frequently; the marks left in the Force are unmistakably his.</p><p>Stashed away in a beat-up durasteel box, Ren finds a stormtrooper armor of all things. In addition to looking like it is in dire need of repairs, it also appears slightly too big to properly fit Hux. Though there's no doubt in Ren's mind that it was Hux who brought it here.</p><p>It's a First Order stormtrooper armor, hence nothing the girl could have recovered from the Star Destroyer shipwrecks that litter the Jakku desert, and it makes Ren wonder.</p><p>Why does Hux have it? He's not the sentimental type, driven only by logic and ambition. To be in possession of a First Order armor strikes Ren as a risk a person like Hux would be unwilling to take.</p><p>Were anybody to find it, Hux would have quite a bit of explaining to do. Of course, he could always pass it off as a war trophy or a macabre collector's item, but why bother when simply discarding it is so much easier?</p><p>The mystery of the armor will have to wait for another day, there are other things to see and more rooms for Ren to explore and he has never been a very patient man anyway.</p><p>He avoids the bedroom, at least for the moment, and heads for the improvised bathroom instead. It's downright claustrophobic, housing only a primitive boudoir and a sonic that must have been installed rather recently—its tiles are still blinding white.    </p><p>Sitting in a braided straw bowl is a wooden toothbrush and a pair of scissors, a few red, near translucent hairs are still sticking to the blades.</p><p>Not even the fall of the First Order and Hux’s consequential exile were able to cure him of his vanity, it seems.</p><p>Ren is tempted to take advantage of Hux's absence and make use of the sonic shower. His clothes are sticking to his skin, stale with sweat, and his hair is a tangled mess with sand particles clinging to it like the gemstones Coruscanti palace dancers would weave into their locks.</p><p>Tempting indeed, to take along an indulgent shower at the expense of Hux and his limited resources. In the end, Ren doesn't.</p><p>Not out of respect for the unexpected hospitality Hux has shown him (surely, not shooting him on the spot must count as such) but because...</p><p>He simply doesn't. </p><p>After the bathroom, there's little left to explore but the bedroom. It's barely bigger than the living area and equally cluttered.</p><p><em>Cluttered</em>, not an attribute Ren thought he'd ever associate with Hux. All of this, it's so different, so decidedly unlike Hux's previous life in the First Order.</p><p>He's seen Hux's quarters on the Finalizer: neat, organised, lacking any hint of personality, a stark, violent contrast to his current living situation.</p><p>There are signs that Hux has attempted to create an illusion of order. The bed is neatly made. There's a wooden chest housing an array of clothes that have been folded carefully and are free of any dust particles, despite the ever invasive sands of the desert.</p><p>It's futile, all of Hux's efforts bound to fail. He will never be able to make this place truly his. There's too much of Rey in it still.</p><p>It was Hux who had to change to be accepted here, and Ren, much to his own annoyance, is forced to admit that Hux has succeeded where he himself has failed.</p><p>Ren turns his back on the bedroom soon after, his initial curiosity quickly waning.</p><p>It should've been Hux who struggled with a world that had shifted on its axis; Hux who should've been overwhelmed with this new life.</p><p>How can it be? That Hux—born and raised in the First Order—has found a new sense of self so much quicker than Ren? Ren who grew up in the New Republic and nowhere near as sheltered as Hux?</p><p>It's not fair, Ren decides as he storms out of the house, defiantly staring at the sun until his eyes are burning and his vision turns white.</p><p>He had hoped, in the deepest, most secret parts of his heart, to find Hux and to find him just as lost as he himself was.</p><p>How can Hux deny him that? Make such a fool out of him with his box of tools and modified speeder bike and comfortable home?</p><p>When the pain becomes unbearable, Ren shields his eyes with one hand, blinking until the world shifts back into focus.</p><p>It must be midday already, judging from the position of the sun. Yet Ren doesn't budge, doesn't flee back inside.</p><p>He'd rather endure the sweltering heat than contemplate the ways in which Hux surpassed him in this new life.</p><p>How the tables have turned. Not too long ago, Ren would've scoffed at the mere idea of Hux not only surviving but thriving outside the restricted chains of the First Order, indoctrinated puppet that he is.</p><p>Yet here he is, having built an entirely new existence in the same time it took Ren to decide whether or not he wanted to take this second chance that had been granted him.</p><p>How much Ren longs for his saber, the comfortable weight of it in his hand, and the crackling purr of the blade, not unlike that of a beloved pet.</p><p>All he's left with to give voice to his inner rage is to stomp his feet in the shifting sand and kick up a cloud of dust. But even that quickly loses its appeal, too childish a tantrum to be much of a relief.</p><p>Ren resigns himself to wordless sulking as he wanders the perimeters of the AT-AT.</p><p>There's little to see out here, apart from a few solar panels and a hole covered with a rusty durasteel plate. Ren has little desire to check its contents. He knows a cesspit when he sees one.</p><p>He's about to admit defeat and head back inside when a flicker of light catches his eye.</p><p>Curiosity piqued, he moves closer, half expecting for the strange phenomenon to fade into nothingness like a fata morgana. </p><p>It doesn't fade or disappear. On the contrary: blurry contours sharpen with every step, solidifying until its existence becomes undeniable. Though it also turns out to be an ultimately disappointing one.</p><p>It's a piece of metal sticking out of the sand like the mast of a sinking ship, the last thing to be seen before it's engulfed by the gluttonous sea.</p><p>What a waste of his time. Ren has already turned his back when he sees it: A pair of dog tags, dangling from a chain that somebody had wound around the metal pole.</p><p>Ren takes them without a second thought, though there’s enough decency left in him not to simply rip them off the chain.</p><p>The tags are undoubtedly First Order, the starburst symbol embossed in the durasteel all the proof one needs. As Ren turns the tags over in his hands, searching for an identification number he knows must be there, he quickly realises that the tags had been tampered with. Instead of a neat row of letters and numbers, there are only two letters, the rest of it scratched out.</p><p>RO is all it reads.</p><p>"What do you think you're doing?"</p><p>Hux's sharp voice cutting through the silence almost causes Ren to drop the tags.</p><p>He's displeased, Ren doesn't need to see Hux's face to know that, though he can't quite say why that is. As far as Ren is concerned, he hasn't done anything to warrant Hux's anger, now has he?</p><p>Nevertheless, he makes sure that Hux can see it when he puts the tags back where he found them, before rising to his feet and turning to face Hux.</p><p>"It's a grave.”</p><p>"Yes," Hux agrees, face tense.</p><p>"Whose?"</p><p>Hux’s lips are pressed into a thin line but his expression softens as his gaze sweeps past Ren and settles on the grave behind him.</p><p>"That of a better man than you."</p><p>Ren doesn't ask. He doubts Hux would give him a proper answer. He could try and pry the knowledge he seeks from Hux's closely-guarded mind but for reasons unknown, that idea doesn't hold much appeal for Ren.</p><p>For now, he'll content himself with the bitter silence that tells him more than Hux can know.</p><p>Whoever the man buried in that grave was, he must have been important to Hux, perhaps even held his affection, a thought that makes Ren involuntarily scrunch up his nose.</p><p>A lover perhaps? Lost when the First Order crumbled? A loyal servant who sacrificed his life so Hux could escape to Jakku? A tantalising mix of both?</p><p>"Are you coming or are you planning on spending the afternoon outside in the sun, burning away the last shred of common sense you possess?"</p><p>Ren looks up to find Hux staring back at him over his shoulder, already halfway on his way to the AT-AT.</p><p>Quick to follow, Ren has a feeling he already has; lost his last bit of sanity that is. What other explanation is there for Hux to invite him back inside his home after having made it so abundantly clear that he wasn’t welcome and would never be?</p><p>Thoughts circling, they walk the rest of the way in silence. </p><p>"You smell like a rancor pit," Hux says, almost conversational, once they’re back inside and he's taken off his bag—a lot lighter now without the additional weight of a repaired droid.</p><p>Ren is half-tempted to move closer, to encroach on Hux’s personal space until he’s left with no choice but to inhale Ren's stench should he wish to breathe.</p><p>Not that there isn’t truth to Hux’s words. On the contrary, considering how long it has been since Ren last took a shower, Hux’s words are downright gentle. But that doesn't mean Ren can't be indignant about Hux's bluntness. He knew he should've used the sonic when he had the chance.</p><p>"Go and shower,” Hux commands without so much as looking at Ren. “I refuse to have you taint this place with your stench. Leave your clothes outside the door."</p><p>Ren blinks once, twice, and then decides the short-lived satisfaction of seeing Hux lose his composure is not worth an argument. Not when he gets a free shower out of shutting his mouth instead.</p><p>He leaves his clothes—stiff with dried sweat—outside the bathroom as instructed and hops under the sonic, sighing softly when the rhythmic vibrations wash dead skin and dirt off him.</p><p>While letting the sonic do its work, Ren briefly entertains the idea of this all being a set-up, one of Hux's ridiculous plans, but no matter how hard he thinks about it, he can't come up with a scenario in which letting him shower would benefit Hux in any way.</p><p>Perhaps it’s as simple as Hux has claimed and Ren's smell is such an affront to the senses, Hux is doing himself a favour by allowing his nemesis to use his facilities. Ren wouldn't put it past him.</p><p>When he emerges from the shower, wet hair plastered to the back of his neck and the skin of his fingers wrinkled, Ren finds that his clothes are gone and have been replaced by a simple shirt and a pair of soft-looking pants.</p><p>They fit him too well to be Hux's and this time he doesn’t swallow the question sitting on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>"Where did you get those?" he asks when he joins Hux in the living area, fingers tugging at the tunic he's wearing.</p><p>Hux's doesn't even look up from where he's frying colourful vegetables over a small fire. The smoke from the fire curls around Hux's body before rising up to a small opening in the ceiling, making him look like one of the legendary witches of Dathomir.</p><p>"Don't be obtuse, Ren. I bought them, of course," he says, before taking a careful bite out of a piece of vegetable and adding what Ren assumes to be a pinch of salt.</p><p>"Bought them?" Ren echoes.</p><p>Nose scrunched up in annoyance, Hux turns to him.</p><p>"Yes. I bought them. With credits. You see, there exists this system in most parts of the known galaxy, where you offer currency in return for wares. You should give it a try."</p><p>Now, who’s acting obtuse?</p><p>"I'm well aware of the mechanics of trade and currency," Ren grumbles. "What I want to know is why you'd buy me clothes."</p><p>They aren't friends. They owe each other nothing but contempt and Ren is certain that, despite all that has happened, this hasn't changed. So why?</p><p>Hux sighs, rolling his eyes when he thinks Ren isn't looking.</p><p>"Because your old clothes were vile. And because I refuse to share a space with somebody who hasn't showered in what must have been weeks."</p><p>Ren huffs a laugh. Hux has always been prone to excessive exaggeration. It’s hardly been weeks, though he can't deny that a shower had been long overdue.</p><p>"They were a gift," Ren explains, though Hux hasn't asked. "you better not have discarded them."</p><p>Too preoccupied with dishing up and setting the makeshift table, Hux doesn't answer until he has sat down on his knees, hands neatly folded in his lap.</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous. I washed them and hung them up to dry. Now what are you waiting for? An invitation? Sit down already. I'm hungry."</p><p>Ren goes only because he doesn't know what else to do and sits down across Hux, eyes glued to the plate overflowing with food, the smell of which has his mouth water.</p><p>Once more, he wants to ask, wants to question Hux's uncharacteristic generosity that continues to surprise and baffle Ren, but another sharp glare from Hux has him grab his cutlery instead.</p><p>It's a simple meal and Hux isn't an experienced cook, not by a stretch, but to Ren, who hasn't had a home-cooked meal since leaving Pip and their people behind, it's a feast. Not caring much for table manners, he shovels fried vegetables into his mouth until his stomach is aching and feeling full to bursting. </p><p>He swallows the last bite with a satisfied sigh. If this was another of Hux's ploys, to poison and kill him, then it was very well worth it.</p><p>Sitting across him, Hux watches him with unconcealed disgust. His own plate is still half-full, his hunger apparently nowhere near as pressing as Ren’s, even though he was the one spending the early hours of the morning doing stars know what at Niima Outpost.</p><p>"You sold the droid?" he asks at the same time Hux bites into a piece of Bellassan pepper.</p><p>"I did," Hux confirms after carefully chewing and swallowing. "Where else do you think your clothes and this food came from?"</p><p>"I imagine fresh produce is not easy to come by here."</p><p>Putting his cutlery aside, leaving the rest of his meal untouched, Hux sits up and looks Ren straight in the eyes.</p><p>"And why would you care?"</p><p>"Because you shared it with me."</p><p>"So?"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>Hux falls silent, his jaw moving as he grinds his teeth, a gesture Ren has come to recognise as distress. Over the long course of their acquaintance, this particular tic of his has become more and more frequent, making its appearance whenever Hux was forced to swallow down a biting remark or else risk Ren's wrath.</p><p>"I expect you to pay me back of course," Hux says, opting to ignore Ren's question. "As soon as you have earned a few credits yourself and before you leave Jakku."</p><p>Taken aback, Ren says nothing.</p><p>Before he leaves?</p><p>Of course, Hux would think that, sooner or later, Ren would try to escape Jakku and put as much distance between himself and Hux as possible. It shouldn't surprise Ren that Hux's hospitality has an expiration date and that, though he has nowhere else to go, Hux wouldn't hesitate to show him the door.</p><p>"And how'd you expect me to do that?" Ren asks, meeting Hux's inquiring gaze with a pout curling his lips.</p><p>"That’s none of my concern, Ren. I did you a favour by not shooting you on the spot when you showed up on my doorstep. And another when I didn't sell you to the Resistance; I'm sure a lot of people would have paid a lot of credits for your head."</p><p>Ren's expression darkens at that.</p><p>"Of course you could. But then again, what would stop me from selling information on the allegedly deceased General Hux and his current whereabouts?"</p><p>Hux's freckled face is a stony mask, his eyes unblinking, his mouth pulled into a thin disapproving line.</p><p>"Nothing," he admits, unmoving.</p><p>"Then it seems we're at an impasse."</p><p>For a few unbearably tense moments, Hux says nothing; doesn't move, doesn't blink, and then he sighs, his whole body seemingly crumbling in on itself as he brushes a hand through his hair and shakes his head.</p><p>"A secret for a secret then," he says.</p><p>"A fair bargain, is it not?"</p><p>"For now," Hux agrees and gets up on his feet, effectively ending the conversation as he picks up their plates and cutlery.</p><p>It still feels like a victory to Ren. That is until Hux's voice rings out once more, much sharper than before.</p><p>"You'll still pay me back those credits, Ren."</p><p>Ren doesn't reply but if that's what it takes to be allowed to stay, then it's a sacrifice he's willing to make.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Alltag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The reality of finding Kylo Ren sleeping curled up on his living room floor is one that has yet to settle in. Hux isn't sure what unsettles him more: the fact that he hasn't used this opportunity to discreetly get rid of Ren once and for all, or that Ren hasn't tried to choke Hux in his sleep.</p><p>He certainly isn’t above threatening Hux, as the first night has shown. A secret for a secret, he called it. Hux knows it under another name: blackmail. For now, Ren seems content to simply hide out in the Jakku desert, using Hux's sonic and eating his hard-earned rations.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys, I'm back!</p><p>Thank you so much for your patience and your kind words on the last chapter. I hope this one doesn't disappoint either. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!</p><p>And a special thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile">StoryTellingApe</a> for whipping this chapter into shape!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XIII. Alltag</p><p><br/>
<br/>
The reality of finding Kylo Ren sleeping curled up on his living room floor is one that has yet to settle in. Hux isn't sure what unsettles him more: the fact that he hasn't used this opportunity to discreetly get rid of Ren once and for all, or that Ren hasn't tried to choke Hux in his sleep.</p><p>He certainly isn’t above threatening Hux, as the first night has shown. A secret for a secret, he called it. Hux knows it under another name: blackmail. For now, Ren seems content to simply hide out in the Jakku desert, using Hux's sonic and eating his hard-earned rations.</p><p>Straightening his clothes and combing back his hair after a quick shower, Hux climbs over Ren's sleeping form to reach his working bench.</p><p>He's not trying particularly hard to remain quiet, so it's no surprise that Ren is quick to stir, roused by the noise of Hux collecting the tools he needs for the day.</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>Ren's voice is deeper than usual, still rough with sleep, and Hux can feel the small hairs on the back of his neck rise in annoyance.</p><p>"None of your business."</p><p>It's his home in which he can do however he pleases. If Ren has any objections to it then he's welcome to leave.</p><p>Hux makes a grab for the hydrospanner that has rolled off and under the working bench, adamant on ignoring Ren and going to earn some credits instead.</p><p>"You're heading for Niima Outpost. Again."</p><p>"Brilliant observation. I'm in awe. If only you'd use those skills to--"</p><p>He turns and finds his words dying in his throat. Ren is close, much too close for comfort, so close Hux can see the remnants of sleep sticking to Ren's dark lashes and the sheen of fresh sweat on his naked chest. Hux hasn't even heard him get up.</p><p>Unaware of his effect on Hux, Ren crowds closer.</p><p>"Take me with you."</p><p>It's not a plea. It's a command and thus Hux is less than inclined to grant him his wish.</p><p>"I'm not holding you back," Hux says, moving past Ren with a little huff, careful not to accidentally touch him. "If you can make your way through the desert, you're more than invited to join me. It's much more likely though, that you'll get lost and die a gruesome death trying to reach the outpost."</p><p>"You have a speeder," Ren points out.</p><p>"Yes, and I won't let you drive with me. I'm not going to have this argument with you again, Ren."</p><p>It's like trying to reason with a child; worse actually. Hux has met children far more susceptible to reason than Ren.</p><p>"Didn't you want me to pay you back for the clothes you bought me?" Ren argues, arms crossed over his chest and his full mouth pulled into a defiant pout. "How am I supposed to do that if I'm stuck here?"</p><p>Hux sighs, resisting the urge to rub at his temples.</p><p>"And what exactly are you planning to do once we reach Niima Outpost? Let's say, just for the sake of this argument, I'd take you with me, how were you going to earn those credits? Use your unnatural powers to trick some poor soul into giving you their purse?"</p><p>Judging from the expression on Ren's face, the thought has crossed his mind.</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous," Hux chides him. "You want to pay your dues? Make yourself useful. Clean the solar panels from sand dust, collect the laundry, it should be dry by now. Try not to destroy anything while you're at it." </p><p>Hux cuts himself off, shutting his mouth with a click, half expecting phantom fingers to close around his throat and punish him for daring to speak to Ren this way.</p><p>Nothing happens. There's no pressure, no shortness of breath, no pain. Ren simply looks at him, offended no doubt and angry Hux wouldn't let him have his way, but instead of lashing out he turns around and stalks back inside the AT-AT.</p><p>And perhaps that, more than anything else, is a testament to how much things have changed. Ren is Supreme Leader no longer, just as Hux isn't a General of the First Order anymore.</p><p>Hux watches Ren's retreating form, confused and intrigued in equal measure, and wonders if he'll come back to a house cleaned, or to a pile of ashes, his small sanctuary having fallen victim to one of Ren's infamous tantrums. He figures there's little he can do but wait and see and in the meanwhile, try not to let Ren occupy too much of his thoughts.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
"You're distracted."</p><p>Graia's voice is an amused hum with a teasing edge to it that has Hux's lips pull down in a frown. Looking up from the microlense he has been tinkering with for what feels like an eternity, Hux finds Graia bent over him, shielding him from the unrelenting sun.</p><p>"I'm working," he argues, forgoing a greeting.</p><p>Graia only laughs, not the slightest bit deterred by his standoffishness. "As if you need longer than two minutes to fix a microlense. You're distracted. You didn't even notice the sun moving. You're all red."</p><p>Hux blinks, suddenly all too aware of the prickling pain at the back of his neck, courtesy of time spent too long in the sun. He forgot to move his parasol, too absorbed in thoughts of what Ren might be doing in his absence.</p><p>Perhaps he has been a smidgen distracted.</p><p>With the help of Graia, he repositions the parasol so that he might sit in its protective shadow once more.</p><p>"Now," Graia says, sitting down next to him, "has this unusual behaviour of yours anything to do with why you weren't here for your usual lunch break yesterday? It's not like you to pack up so early. You're always the first to arrive and the last to leave."</p><p>Hux has no desire to tell her about Ren, but neither does he want to lie, at least not outright. Graia is too perceptive for her own good and if Hux were to lie at her, she'd be quick to realise it and demand an explanation Hux isn't yet ready to give.</p><p>"Almost two  days ago, I met somebody I thought I'd never see again and I'm not sure how to feel about it."</p><p>It's all he's willing to give Graia and, wise woman that she is, she doesn't press for more.</p><p>"Mhm..." She nods in understanding, tapping against her sagging cheek with one finger. Hux doubts she could ever come anywhere near understanding the relationship between him and Ren, the rivalry that, over time, deepened into animosity then hatred, then fear.</p><p>"Does that somebody happen to be a young man? Tall with dark eyes and even darker hair? Quite broad shoulders too."</p><p>Hux almost drops the microlense.</p><p>"How--?"</p><p>He shuts his mouth before more stupidity can tumble out of it, but it's already too late. A wide grin is plastered across Graia's face, revealing the wide gap where two of her teeth are missing.</p><p>"Lucky guess." She shrugs. "I stumbled over him two days ago, as he was about to make his way through the desert. He didn't tell me what or who he was looking for but it was pretty obvious, now wasn't it? Not much else out there but you."</p><p>Typical Ren, making a spectacle of himself as soon as he set foot upon this planet. Has anybody else seen him? Noticed how similar his appearance is to the Supreme Leader of the First Order? Are people already talking about the tall stranger who has arrived so suddenly on Jakku? Has Ren already blown Hux's cover?</p><p>"You're doing it again," Graia points out. "Overthinking."</p><p>"It's what I do best," Hux shoots back, not denying it.</p><p>"Is he with you now?" Graia asks, wagging her eyebrows at him.</p><p>Hux physically recoils.</p><p>"Whatever you think I'm doing with Ren, I can assure you that's not it."</p><p>He only realises his mistake when Graia's eyes widen with intrigue.</p><p>"That's his name? Ren?"</p><p>For an excruciatingly long second, Hux waits for her to say something more, to realise that the name belongs to Kylo Ren; that the man she's met is a murderer and war criminal in the eyes of the New Republic and that Hux has, more or less, offered him shelter.</p><p>"A little short isn't it?"</p><p>Hux releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.</p><p>"Doesn't have quite the same ring to it as Armitage, if you ask me."</p><p>With his heart still pounding wildly in his chest, Hux forces himself to a crooked smile.</p><p>"He's chosen it himself," he explains, eager to bring this conversation to an end. "And he's always had terrible taste."</p><p>"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Graia argues as she reaches out to take the microlense from him. "It can't be too bad if out of the people in the galaxy, he has decided to stay with you."</p><p>Hux is saved from having to come up with a response by a customer asking to have a rolling moisture cell repaired.</p><p>It's mindless work Hux can get lost in, just complicated enough to keep his mind occupied and distracted from thoughts of Ren and his reasons for seeking him out; him of all people.</p><p>Graia stays by his side, content to adjust the shade-giving parasol to follow the path of the sun along the sky. When it can rise no higher, she gets up and gently touches Hux on the arm, effectively pulling him out of his working trance.</p><p>"Lunch time," Graia says, unprompted, and holds up a metal box, neatly folded into a cotton cloth.</p><p>"I'm not hungry."</p><p>A lie, which is promptly exposed by his treacherous stomach that emits a loud, whining grumble.</p><p>Graia merely throws him a look and Hux is left with no other choice but to defer to her wishes.</p><p>Lunch is a light affair, consisting of dried fruit and cold, fried vegetables; leftovers from last night's dinner, no doubt. But Hux isn't going to complain. Every meal he doesn't have to prepare himself is one less thing to worry about.</p><p>"Now," Graia says, tone so innocent Hux immediately knows she's going to ask questions he'll have no desire to answer, "how long is that young man of yours staying?"</p><p>Hux cringes but doesn't argue her estimation of Ren as 'his young man'. Graia has already made up her mind and trying to convince her that the relationship between him and Ren is nowhere near as amiable as she imagines, would be a pointless task.</p><p>"If only I knew," Hux grumbles, stuffing a dried tuanulberry in his mouth and chewing as slowly as humanly possible.</p><p>It doesn't bother Graia in the slightest. With the patience of the elderly, she waits until he swallows, her eyes never leaving his face as he's chewing, the fruit in his mouth turning to slimy mush.</p><p>"As far as I've understood it, he has no intention of leaving any time soon."</p><p>Much to Hux's dismay. Graia, on the other hand, seems delighted by this news, the deep lines on her weather-worn face momentarily straightening out as her mouth pulls into a full smile.</p><p>"Good," she says, nodding along to her own words. "You've been on your own for too long; all alone out there in the desert."</p><p>Hux would've preferred to stay alone indefinitely, but doesn't have it in him to tell Graia that. She means well, he knows that; and she has shown him kindness without ever expecting anything in return.</p><p>He's tempted, at times, to ask her why she had shown a total stranger such unconditional kindness, but fear is holding him back; fear of what her answer might be. </p><p>Nobody has ever been kind to Armitage Hux for kindness' sake. During his childhood, kindness had been a rare gift, rarely bestowed upon him on the grounds that such things needed to be earned. Even Rae Sloane, the woman Hux still considers a revered mentor and protector, demanded perfection and devotion in return for a single praising word.</p><p>Armitage Hux is not a superstitious man, not by a stretch, but he knows when it's better to let sleeping dogs lie.</p><p>"I can take care of myself," he says, one because it's true and second because he dislikes the implication that he of all people would be in need of company.</p><p>"I didn't say you couldn't. Just that I'll definitely sleep better now that I know there's somebody with you out there."</p><p>Graia nudges the half-empty lunch box in his direction, seemingly done with her meal though she has hardly eaten anything.</p><p>"You should eat more," Hux chides her, stubbornly pushing back the box.</p><p>"I would if I could," Graia argues. "But the heat has killed any appetite I might have had. You eat the rest, or take it home to your companion."</p><p>"He's not--" Hux stops before he can make a fool out of himself. Again.</p><p>There's no arguing with Graia. She has made up her mind and trying to convince that he and Ren are anything but companions would be both pointless and exhausting.</p><p>"Will you bring him next time and introduce the two of us properly?"</p><p>Not if Hux can prevent it. The last thing he needs is Ren ruining his amicable relationship with Graia by being his obnoxious self, or, even worse, by trying to strike up a friendship of his own.</p><p>"Unlikely," Hux says, attempting to sound sorrowful with only limited success. "My speeder bike isn't made for two and attempting to walk to Niima Outpost would be downright suicidal."</p><p>"He walked through the Jakku desert just fine when he was searching for you," Graia points out.</p><p>"And when he found me he was a sand-covered mess."</p><p>"Surely, you two could squeeze onto that speeder bike of yours. You're slender."</p><p>"And he's not."</p><p>"You really don't want me to get to know your friend? Are you ashamed of me?"</p><p>Hux glares at Graia, who meets his heated gaze with an innocent flutter of her thin lashes.</p><p>"This is not going to work on me," he insists.</p><p>"I need to try harder then. Do you really have it in you to deny an old woman such a simple wish?"</p><p>Her tone is playful, devoid of any underlying accusations, and Hux wonders if it'd be so still were he to reveal that he has done so much worse than tell a woman no.</p><p>"He's terrible company. I'm doing you a favour by not introducing you to each other."</p><p>"Shouldn't I be the judge of that? Don't be dense, Armitage. Just bring him along next time. The big race is coming soon, surely you don't want him to miss that. The only interesting thing to happen on Jakku all year."</p><p>Hux groans. Right, the Wet Season Classic, a blessing and a curse alike.</p><p>It's the busiest time of the year, or so the other merchants here at Niima Outpost have told him. Someone with his set of skills could earn good credits during the week-long spectacle, credits he desperately needs. Yet, Hux is wary.</p><p>There are too many people attending the Wet Season Classic, podracing affectionados coming from all corners of the known galaxy, even from as far away places as the Inner Core. Aliens and humans from all walks of life, perhaps even a few educated enough to recognise an exiled former General of the First Order.</p><p>It's a risk Hux is hesitant to take, no matter how tempting the siren call of credits.</p><p>"I'm not sure Ren is particularly interested in podracing," he argues.</p><p>Another lie, perhaps the biggest one he's told so far. If Ren were to find out that there's a week-long podracing event coming to Niima Outpost, Hux has no doubts he'd insist on attending.</p><p>Hux doesn't know of many things Kylo Ren truly enjoys, but speeders and similarly fast vehicles are certainly among those. Too many nights Hux has wasted modifying Ren's TIE Silencer to the man's specifications, to not be aware of that.</p><p>"Still more interesting than staring at sand dunes all day," Graia argues.</p><p>Perhaps, but sufficient mental stimulation for Ren is none of Hux's concerns. If it were up to Hux, then Ren would spend the rest of his days holed up in that AT-AT, hidden away from the galaxy at large.</p><p>"Don't be cruel, Armitage," Graia implores him, perhaps sensing his reluctance. "Bring him with you tomorrow. For lunch. I'm sure he'd appreciate a change in scenery."</p><p>Hux heaves a defeated sigh.</p><p>"Fine then, I'll introduce you two. But no more talk of that twice-forsaken podrace."</p><p>Better to get it over with and indulge Graia's curiosity, than have her pester him for the foreseeable future.</p><p>Graia's face lights up with a smile.</p><p>"See? Was that so hard?"</p><p>"You'll regret asking this," Hux tells her, but his cryptic warnings do nothing to dampen Graia's mood.</p><p>She's pleased as punch, having gotten her way once more.</p><p>"Will I now?" she wonders, humming under her breath. "Surely, your young man can't be that bad."</p><p>Hux clicks his tongue. "Worse."</p><p>Graia’s smile widens.<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
When Hux returns home in the late hours of the afternoon, Ren is nowhere to be found. His nest of blankets is gone from the living room floor, the blankets itself neatly folded into squares and put aside. Hux's inquiring calls of Ren's name go unanswered, resulting only in a faint echo that quickly fades away.</p><p>Panic rises in Hux's throat and a million different scenarios, each one more horrifying than the last, rush through his mind and make his stomach turn.</p><p>"Ren!" he calls out once more, stumbling through the small space the two of them have shared for the last days.</p><p>Have they been found? Has Ren, in his arrogance and foolishness, exposed the two of them? Has he been taken by the New Republic to answer for his many many crimes? Has he sold the knowledge that General Armitage Hux, the Starkiller, has survived as well, in return for a lighter sentence? Are the armed forces of the New Republic already lurking in the shadows? Waiting for the right moment to strike?</p><p>Heart stuck in his throat, Hux runs outside, half expecting to find the Resistance already there, waiting for him with Ren by their side, smirking.</p><p>Nobody is waiting for him. All there is to see the sand and sky, Ren nowhere to be found.</p><p>"Ren!" </p><p>The sound echoes throughout the emptiness of the desert before dying a slow death.</p><p>"One could think you want us to be found."</p><p>Hux whirls around, coming eye-to-eye with a sour-faced Ren. </p><p>He's frowning, obviously irritated by Hux's uncharacteristic behaviour. Judging from the sweat glistening on his forehead and collecting in his armpits, he has been out in the sun for a while.</p><p>"What are you doing?" Hux hisses, voice dithering between confusion and exasperation.</p><p>Ren tilts his head, returning Hux's stare without blinking, and lifts up the toolbox he has been carrying in his hand and which, until now, Hux has failed to notice.</p><p>"Cleaned the solar panels, as you asked. One was malfunctioning. I repaired it. You're welcome."</p><p>He doesn't wait for Hux to compose himself enough to offer a scathing reply. Instead, he walks slowly past him, their shoulders brushing when he turns to look at Hux.</p><p>"You should take better care of your equipment."</p><p>Ren has already disappeared inside when Hux finally shakes himself out of his stupor.</p><p>The audacity of the man! To lecture him this way, when it is only thanks to Hux's hospitality that he has a place to stay at all.</p><p>Hux is half tempted to retrieve his blaster and finish what he started when shooting Ren in the shoulder. A shame the wound hasn't become infected. A shame Ren hasn't lost an arm. A shame Ren is alive and apparently adamant to torment Hux until his dying day.</p><p>Hux follows after Ren, chest tight with red-hot fury, and finds him spread out in the living room, having made himself comfortable in his nest of blankets that seemingly doubles as a couch now.</p><p>He's sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees, in a pose that Hux knows all too well: Ren is about to meditate, searching for some kind of inner peace or balance Hux is certain he'll never find.</p><p>"Is that how you're planning on spending your days? Meditating and being condescending? How little things have changed."</p><p>Ren cracks one eye open but doesn't move otherwise, his body perfectly still.</p><p>"I did what you asked of me. Now I demand to be left in peace in return."</p><p>Hux wants to strangle him.</p><p>"You don't have any right to ask anything of me, Ren. You're not my guest. You came here of your own volition. You sought me out! You were so desperate, so lonely, you came to me. Not the other way around! What makes you think you have any right to make demands?!"</p><p>He expects to be thrown across the room, expects for Ren's large hand to tighten around his throat. He expects the hot, humid breath of Ren ghosting across his face as he leans in close to threaten him, to beat him into submission, but nothing of the sort happens.</p><p>Ren simply looks at him. Angry, yes—he can't hide the whirlwind of emotion raging in his deep-brown eyes—but not mad with rage.</p><p>"You don't understand, do you Hux?" Ren asks, the disregard in his voice apparent. "You don't feel it. This place, it doesn't want me here."</p><p>Hux rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>"Now I wonder why that is," he mumbles under his breath, but Ren either doesn't hear him or doesn't care enough to argue with him.</p><p>"It has been hers for too long, I can still feel her."</p><p>His temples are thrumming with the telltale signs of an oncoming headache and yet, against better judgment, Hux can't resist but ask.</p><p>"Ren," he says, trying and failing to remain calm, "what are you talking about?"</p><p>Ren looks at him like one might look at a particularly dense child.</p><p>"The scavenger," he explains as if it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "This place used to be hers. Can you not feel it?"</p><p>"Can I not--"</p><p>Hux stops himself just in time, refusing to engage with Ren and indulge his eccentricities any longer.</p><p>"No, Ren. I can, in fact, not feel it. The only thing I feel is another headache coming."</p><p>The scavenger girl once lived here, Ren claims. The very same scavenger girl who has bested Ren so many times? The same girl who is the reason that all Hux has worked so hard to achieve in his life, is now nothing but ash and smoke? And this is where she used to live?</p><p>It should feel different, though there's no rational reason to think so. It shouldn't feel so...banal. A rusty AT-AT in the middle of a desert ruthlessly eviscerated to make space for this girl, to give her a roof over her head and a place to sleep.</p><p>"I can," Ren says and closes his eyes again. "From the dying nightbloomer plant you haven't thrown out yet to the bed she has built and which you now use, her presence penetrates everything. It's suffocating."</p><p>Hux huffs a humourless laugh. "And wouldn't you know everything there is to know about suffocation?"</p><p>Ren doesn't answer and Hux, left with no other choices, but to either stand there like a fool and watch Ren or go and do something more useful with his time, decides to take a shower. Washing off the dirt and grime of the day will do him good.</p><p>Of all the places to choose as his hideout, he ends up in what used to be the scavenger girl's home. The realisation doesn't settle in until he's standing in the sonic, the gentle vibrations of it easing some of the tension in Hux's neck and shoulders.</p><p>Is that why Ren is here? Because he was hoping to find her?</p><p>He doesn’t speak to Ren again that day, pretending he’s not there when he brushes past him on his way to his bed after a meager dinner that they share in silence.</p><p>Ren doesn’t ask.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hux wants to take him to Niima Outpost.</p><p>"You want to take me to Niima Outpost?"</p><p>It's the third time he's posed the question. Hux has yet to give him an answer, not to mention a proper explanation. He merely huffs and adjusts the bag on his back filled with his tools as well as a few bottles of water.</p><p>"Why?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys,</p><p>sorry for the long break in between updates. I have no excuse except life is a bitch sometimes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XIV. Healing<br/><br/><br/></p><p><br/>Hux wants to take him to Niima Outpost.</p><p>"You want to take me to Niima Outpost?"</p><p>It's the third time he's posed the question. Hux has yet to give him an answer, not to mention a proper explanation. He merely huffs and adjusts the bag on his back filled with his tools as well as a few bottles of water.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>Not even a day ago he had refused to indulge Ren and let him accompany Hux, adamant that it was too dangerous for Ren to show his face around the small outpost.</p><p>Hux grumbles something indiscernible under his breath and swings himself upon his speeder bike, wincing when he puts too much weight on his left leg.</p><p>The wound on Hux's leg—Ren has only seen it once and only by chance, when Hux changed into his nightclothes, not expecting Ren to barge in on him—it's still giving him trouble. That night, Ren only caught a glimpse: pale skin littered with freckles and the unmistakable pink of a blaster scar. It looked similar to the one that once adorned Ren's own waist and that is now gone.</p><p>If Hux has noticed the absence of Ren's scar, then he hasn't mentioned it.</p><p>"Just get on the speeder, Ren."</p><p>Ren could argue with Hux, refuse to get on the bike until he has gotten his answers, even go so far as to wring the knowledge he seeks from Hux's mind with ways of the Force. It would be easy. It would be quick.</p><p>He gets up on the speeder and makes himself as comfortable as possible behind Hux.</p><p>It’s a tight fit and Ren is forced to put his arms around Hux, his chest pressed to the narrow back. Not even the months spent on Jakku, surviving in its harsh climate, could add more muscle to Hux’s body; he's still as slender as Ren remembers.</p><p>The ride is awkward, neither of them willing to talk. Ren is tempted, once, but is quick to change his mind when a gust of hot wind sweeps past them and fills his mouth with sand the moment he opens it. Hux hasn't given him a helmet.</p><p>It feels like an eternity passes before they make it to Niima Outpost and Ren, near desperate to break the tension that has started to mount between them, jumps off the speeder before it has come to a full stop.</p><p>Not much has changed since the day of his arrival. The port is just as bleak and monochromatic as he remembers, though there are signs of life he hasn't noticed the first time his feet hit the dusty surface of the planet:</p><p>The animated chatter of the few villagers already out and about. The crowing of the steelpeckers, scurrying from one shadow to the next, hoping to find a piece of scrap metal. The groaning and grunting of the happabores as they drink from the stone well dominating the marketplace.</p><p>"Don't stand there like a fool. Follow me."</p><p>Hux's voice cuts through Ren’s observations like a knife, but he doesn't sound particularly cruel, not like Ren knows he can be.</p><p>There's no hesitation in Hux's steps as he leads the two of them through the marketplace already swarming with vendors erecting their stalls and laying out their wares. He seems comfortable here and well-respected if the shouted greetings from other merchants are anything to go by. Hux returns most of them with a polite nod but he doesn't pause to engage in mindless chit-chat.</p><p>Their goal is an empty spot left between a gorgmonger’s booth and a long table used by the scavengers of the area. Only a handful are sitting on the wooden benches now, cleaning their haul and making the rusty durasteel shine in hopes of achieving a better price when they sell it.</p><p>Hux wastes no time setting up shop and Ren, left standing by the side and with little else to do, lets his gaze wander.</p><p>He's not looking for anything or anybody in particular and all the more surprising is it then when his eyes meet those of an old woman sitting at the scavengers' table and her face lights up in recognition.</p><p>Ren's first instinct is to wipe her mind and memories with the Force. He can't risk anybody recognising him or Hux. But just as he is about to invade her mind, one hand already raised, Hux appears by his side and blocks his line of sight.</p><p>"Stop it, Ren," he hisses, having witnessed the extent of his powers often enough to recognise when Ren is attempting to make use of them.</p><p>He offers no explanation, only a warning glare, and then turns to go and greet the old woman with an almost-smile. They exchange a few hushed words, throwing occasional glances at Ren, before Hux invites him to join their little menage with a wave of his hand.</p><p>"Ah, you showered."</p><p>Ren blinks, caught off-guard by those words, and only then does realisation hit him. He knows this woman. She was the one to point him in the right direction when he first arrived on Jakku, desperate in his search for Hux.</p><p>"He cleans up nicely."</p><p>She laughs, elbowing Hux in the side. He takes the disrespectful treatment with surprising dignity, merely scrunching up his nose as he gives Ren a once-over. As if he has only laid eyes on him for the first time.</p><p>"If you say so.” He shrugs, obviously humouring the woman by his side.</p><p>"Ren, this is Graia, a friend of mine who insisted the two of you be introduced."</p><p>Graia thrusts out her hand, waiting patiently for Ren to make up his mind. He takes the offered hand after some hesitation, grasping it in a tight handshake. She winces but doesn't pull away.</p><p>"I see you made it through the desert; very impressive."</p><p>"Unfortunately," Hux quips from the sidelines.</p><p>Ren glares at him as he lets go of the woman's hand, but Hux doesn't seem to care.</p><p>"If you'd excuse me, I have a business to run."</p><p>He's gone before Ren can protest, leaving him to deal with this strange woman on his own.</p><p>The lines adorning Graia's face are deep, speaking of a life well-lived, but her eyes are bright and clear, sparkling with keen intelligence.</p><p>In the Force, her aura is just as bright and Ren is surprised to find a spark of Force-sensitivity. Small, almost minuscule, but it's there, hidden deep within her soul.</p><p>Ren is certain Graia has no idea. It's unlikely she knows what Force-sensitivity entails, let alone knows how to harness what little of it she seems to possess herself. Perhaps she has never even heard of the Jedi and the Sith, of the rise and the long long fall of these two factions.</p><p>And isn't that a comforting thought? Living a life free of all the expectations that come with blood more powerful than that of others? Ren almost envies her that, though he's careful not to show it.</p><p>Who knows how much of his thoughts or emotions she might be able to grasp, no matter how unintentionally.</p><p>"Hux called you his friend," he says, subtly changing the topic and redirecting her attention away from him, back to Hux.</p><p>Graia blinks, confusion momentarily marring her withered face.</p><p>"Hux? You mean Armitage?"</p><p>Ren startles, almost biting down on his tongue as he forcefully swallows the curse sitting on the tip of it.</p><p>How foolish of him. Of course, Hux wouldn't use his family name; not with how closely tied it is to the First Order, to the stormtrooper program, to Starkiller Base.</p><p>He's about to wipe Graia's memories and eradicate this colossal blunder of his from her mind, when she leans in, suddenly uncomfortably close.</p><p>"I am,” she whispers, one hand held up to her mouth. “His friend that is, but don't tell him that. He never called me his friend before, though it was about time."</p><p>Graia steps back, her smile revealing two rows of yellowed teeth and Ren breathes a sigh of relief. She didn't recognise the name. Hux's secret is safe for a while longer.</p><p>Ren doesn't want to imagine what kind of fate would have befallen him had he unwittingly blown Hux's cover. For all his coveted composure and cold demeanor, Hux's fury runs quite hot. Ren hasn't forgotten the many arguments they had over the years serving as co-commanders, though that flame had slowly extinguished when Ren declared himself Supreme Leader, to be replaced by cold resentment and lingering fear.</p><p>"How long has he been here?" Ren asks next.</p><p>It's obvious she's far more talkative than Hux who, whenever Ren inquired about what brought him to Jakku of all places, would either shrug or sharply remind him to mind his own business.</p><p>"Good question," Graia says, rubbing her pronounced chin as she thinks. "Four, maybe five months? Time doesn't have much meaning here. The days are all the same, hot and dry. The only time there's any excitement is for the Wet Season Classic, which I promised Armitage not to tell you about. So you never even heard of it, got it?"</p><p>Suspicion rears its vicious head, settling in Ren's chest along with a spark of anger.</p><p>"Why?" he asks, voice deep and demanding. What is this Wet Season Classic that Hux doesn't want him to know about?</p><p>What secrets is Hux keeping from him? What new schemes has he devised in that ever-busy mind of his?</p><p>And how foolish was Ren to think that a simple promise would keep Hux from betraying him?</p><p>Graia tuts at him, disapproval written in every line of her face as she reaches out and pokes him in the chest.</p><p>"Now did your parents not teach you any manners? What happened to 'please' and 'thank you'?"</p><p>Ren, utterly dumbfounded, says nothing.</p><p>"The Wet Season Classic is the only time of the year anything interesting happens on Jakku. A podrace, very fast, very dangerous, and very lucrative for Niima Outpost."</p><p>A podrace. A podrace Hux didn't want him to know about. Ren is intrigued.</p><p>"Tell me more," he demands, his initial anger forgotten.</p><p>"Now what was that?" Graia asks, looking at him with one sun-bleached eyebrow raised.</p><p>Ren grumbles but swallows down his irritation, pressing out the words between clenched teeth.</p><p>"Tell me more, please."</p><p>Graia has common sense enough not to antagonise him further and keeps any more patronising lectures wisely to herself.</p><p>"It's a celebration," she explains, nodding along to her own words. "To welcome the rainy season. It's a dangerous sport, deadly even, and every year there are no few casualties but with prize money enough to buy an entire ship with, there's no shortage of people eager to try their luck every year."</p><p>"A ship?" Ren echoes, unable to keep the eager edge out of his voice.</p><p>"Well, not enough to buy a brand-new ship with," Graia amends, "but enough to buy one that can get you off Jakku. Problem is, the only people able to join the race are those already wealthy enough to afford a podracer. So they come here every year, from all over the galaxy, just to net that prize money, and then they disappear again, leaving all us poor bastards dreaming of a better life behind."</p><p>The Force truly works in mysterious ways. A podrace, here in the most remote corner of the galaxy. A chance to start anew, to pay his dues to Hux and be free, not bound by anything or anybody.</p><p>"A podracer, where would I find one?"</p><p>Graia looks at him as if he's grown a second head.</p><p>"What are you talking about, boy? You're human, aren't you? You wouldn't survive the first round."</p><p>She's underestimating him, but Ren is hardly bothered by it. She's not the first to do so, she won't be the last.</p><p>"There are humans who have raced, some even won," he points out.</p><p>"One human, you mean," Graia argues. "And he was the single exception to the rule."</p><p>She pauses, struck by a sudden realisation, and grabs Ren by his sleeve.</p><p>"Wait, don't tell me you plan on racing? Don't be foolish! You'll get yourself killed. Oh stars, now I know why Armitage didn't want me to tell you about it!"</p><p>Ren is barely listening, letting his gaze wander over the stalls of the vendors until he catches sight of that familiar red hair.</p><p>He pulls away, the seams of his sleeve protesting the strain until Graia relents and lets go of him.</p><p>Hux is busy talking to a customer, the two of them engaged in a heated discussion about the appropriate compensation for Hux's services. They don't notice him until he's right beside them, blocking out the sun with his broad frame.</p><p>"Ren, what--"</p><p>"You'll pay whatever price he considers appropriate," Ren mumbles, waving his hand in front of the customer's face.</p><p>The Kyuzo's eyes glaze over and his shoulders slump forward. He nods once before he turns back to Hux.</p><p>"I'll pay whatever price he considers appropriate."</p><p>"Now leave."</p><p>The alien shuffles away, dragging his feet through the sand as if he's forgotten how to walk. Ren couldn't care less.</p><p>"Hux--" he says, only to be rudely interrupted.</p><p>"What the hell do you think you're doing, Ren?" Hux hisses, his high cheekbones flushed an angry red. "Do you want us to get caught?"</p><p>Ren doesn't share his paranoia.</p><p>"Nobody cares," he points out. "They're too busy swindling people out of their credits. Now tell me, why did you ask that woman to keep the Wet Season Classic a secret from me?"</p><p>Hux's eyes widen, then narrow to slits as he glares at Ren.</p><p>"Did you use your powers to trick her into telling you about it? Because if you did, I swear by the stars, I'm going to cut your throat, Force-user or not."</p><p>Ren blinks, taken aback at first before amusement replaces his initial surprise.</p><p>"You're protective of her. Interesting."</p><p>Hux neither confirms nor denies this, too used to these taunts to fall for them, Ren assumes.</p><p>"There's no need for violence,” Ren explains. “I simply asked and she told me. Now, will you answer my question? Why didn't you want me to know?"</p><p>Hux doesn't reply immediately, fumbling instead with what looks like a power-converter cell that another customer must have given him to repair.</p><p>"Because you don't want me to participate? Is that it?" Ren presses, too impatient to wait for an answer Hux is unwilling to give.</p><p>The power cell hits the wooden stall display with a dull thud.</p><p>"Because I knew you'd be foolish enough to try and participate!"</p><p>Hux whirls around, his loose hair falling into his eyes as he faces Ren, a furious snarl pulling at his mouth.</p><p>"And what if I do?!" Ren snaps. "What do you care?"</p><p>"I don't care one bit for what you do, Ren. If anything, I'd happily sign you up myself, if that meant I get to see you get yourself killed."</p><p>"But?"</p><p>"But I won't. Because that'd draw too much attention. The one time of the year Niima Outpost is bustling with activity and you want to participate in a race? Might as well show up on the New Republic's doorstep and hand yourself over."</p><p>Hux huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face as he stares at Ren, his arms crossed over his chest, the epitome of disapproval. Ren hates it.</p><p>"So you'd rather hide forever?" he argues, no longer caring to keep his voice down. "You'd rather spend the rest of your days here? Fixing power converters and moisture vaporators for pocket change? Is that it, Hux?!"</p><p>"Don't you dare!" Hux hisses, his voice dripping with such venom Ren instinctively takes a step back before he can think better of it.</p><p>"I sacrificed everything! Everything for the First Order, for the greater good. And you, in your arrogance and selfishness, destroyed it! Don't you dare stand before me and act like you have the moral high ground here. You have no right to belittle my choices. Not when it was you who came crawling to my doorstep!"</p><p>Anger as blistering hot as the desert sun, overcomes Ren, sweeping away all rational thought and sense of caution.</p><p>"And now I'm offering you a way out, a new life. And you're going to throw that away!? With the prize money--"</p><p>"Don’t take me for a fool," Hux interrupts him. "Even if they’d let you enter the race, even if, against all odds, you’d win it, why would you offer me any of the winnings? Why would I risk exposure for an empty promise like that? There's no love lost between us, Ren. Don't pretend otherwise."</p><p>"No," Ren agrees, the embers of his fury slowly abating. "There isn't and I won't pretend there is, but I know you. This is not what you want. It's not what I want either."</p><p>"What would you know about what I want?" Hux mumbles. He takes a deep breath and lifts a hand to drag over his face, wiping away sweat and dirt. "Maybe I just want you to leave me alone, Ren? Maybe I want some peace at last. Why can't you give me that?"</p><p>Ren shuts his mouth with a resounding click, the dejection in Hux's voice startling him into silence.</p><p>"I need a podracer," he points out after a few tense moments, unsure of what else to say, of how to answer Hux's question. "And a mechanic."</p><p>Hux throws him an exasperated look from under his unruly hair, so unlike the severe, rigid style Ren is used to.</p><p>"And there’s the catch. Why am I not surprised, Ren?"</p><p>"You built my TIE silencer," Ren points out. "You could build a podracer."</p><p>"I could. But I can't materialise one out of thin air. Where would I get the parts?" Hux says, still skeptical.</p><p>"Unkar Plutt has several old racers in that junkyard of his."</p><p>Ren almost jumps, too distracted by his argument with Hux to have noticed Graia approaching. Judging from Hux's wide-eyed expression neither has he.</p><p>"You could buy one for cheap," she says, shrugging when Hux stares at her. "I'm not saying he should race in the Wet Season Classic, just that it wouldn't be impossible to get a racer and modify it."</p><p>"We're not having this conversation," Hux grumbles, fed up with the both of them no doubt. "We're not going to buy a racer. We're not signing up for the Wet Season Classic. He's not going to race."</p><p>His tone is definite and Ren, though tempted to argue further, holds his tongue.</p><p>He's known Hux long enough to also know when to cut his losses and retreat, at least for the moment. He's no longer the Supreme Leader of the First Order, he can't force Hux to give in to his demands, no matter how much easier that would make things for him.</p><p>And though Ren is loath to admit it: Hux’s doubts are not entirely unfounded. The risk of somebody recognising him while he's participating in a highly popular podrace, one that's likely to be broadcasted and thus watched by thousands of lifeforms, cannot be so easily dismissed.</p><p>"Have it your way then," Ren huffs.</p><p>His uncharacteristic prudence earns him a surprised look from Hux, his red brows curving up towards his forehead. He doesn't say anything, smart enough to simply take his victories where he can, and moves back to his tiny booth.</p><p>Ren doesn't stay long enough to give Hux an opportunity to revel in this triumph. He turns on his heels, leaving both Hux and Graia behind as he makes his way through Niima Outpost, evading overeager merchants and laughing children running past him, too preoccupied with their game of catch to take much notice of him.</p><p>Neither Graia nor Hux follows him or cares enough to call out for him, but that Ren has expected. Though he has conceded to Hux's points concerning the race, it doesn't mean he's content with the decision. There's residual anger still churning in his belly; not at Hux per se but at his refusal to give this plan a try, to let Ren win them a ticket out of this limbo they've found themselves trapped in.</p><p>It's unlike Hux to resign himself to his fate. Always, his aspirations have been of a higher nature; his hunger for power matching, if not outweighing Ren's. How can it be then, that he's content with so little now? Has his spirit been broken so thoroughly that an existence as a mechanic on some backwater planet is enough for the man who once destroyed five planets without so much as blinking an eye?</p><p>Shaking his head, Ren wills the unpleasant thought away and almost collides with a Melitto exciting one of the few buildings at Niima Outpost made from actual stone.</p><p>The alien sucks in a wet-sounding breath and mumbles something in a language Ren doesn't understand before turning away.</p><p>No doubt it was an insult, made apparent by the biting tilt in the alien's voice, but Ren refuses to let it bother him. What do they know? They live a pitiful life on a pitiful planet, not worth Ren's consideration or even his ire.</p><p>He watches the alien retreat before he turns his attention to the building in front of him. It's nondescript but the rambunctious laughter spilling past the entrance tells Ren everything he needs to know: He's found the local cantina. </p><p>On a whim, he enters and is immediately hit with the rank smells always found in these kinds of places: sweat, cheap booze, blood, and sex.</p><p>The clientele is as colourful as the odors assaulting Ren's nose: a mix of seemingly all the races inhabiting the outer ring but only a few humans.</p><p>Apart from himself, Ren can only spot one other: a pudgy man with curly hair and an unkempt beard in dire need of a trim. His laughter is grating, echoing throughout the entire taproom and slowly draining the other patrons' patience. He's playing sabacc with a group of aliens and, despite his inebriated state, which is unmistakable even from a distance, is apparently winning.</p><p>Grimacing, Ren makes it to the bar, where the Wookie bartender gives him a quick once-over before asking for his order. Ren doesn't have any credits on him, but he asks for a glass of blue milk anyway. The bartender throws him a disbelieving look but keeps his opinion on Ren's order to himself. Wise man.</p><p>Alcohol has never been of particular interest to him. It seemed pointless to indulge in a substance that would only dull your senses and make you lose control over yourself. Ren has certainly never needed the aid of intoxicating substances to do that.</p><p>Grimacing, he watches the thin crowd over the rim of his glass. There aren't many patrons, which comes as no surprise. It's still somewhat early and the hour it'd be socially acceptable to get inebriated is still far away. All the more curious then, is the human playing sabacc, calling for the waitress to fill his cup whenever he loses another hand.</p><p>Ren takes a closer look at the man, reaching out with the Force to parse his thoughts.</p><p>They're not very deep, unsurprisingly. He's mostly preoccupied with the fullness of his cup, the cards in his hand, and the tits of one of his fellow players. No wonder he keeps losing.</p><p>It doesn’t seem to sour his mood in the slightest: that he has to hand over another credit chip at the end of each round. Whenever he flicks one on the sabacc table, he's quick to produce another from his pocket.</p><p>He doesn't look like an affluent man; the state of his dress more befitting a beggar than a wealthy socialite. Looks can be deceiving but Ren doubts that this is the case here.</p><p>Intrigued, he sinks deeper into the man's mind, careful not to use too much Force and inevitably break it.</p><p>The depths of the man’s mind are a jumbled mess, as is often the case with Force-nulls. It's rare for them to have all their thoughts and feelings and memories neatly compartmentalised. More often than not their inner machinations resemble a cluttered closet, all the things they've seen and experienced shoved carelessly inside, memories upon memories piled upon each other, some of them buried so deep they're all but forgotten.</p><p>Ren is lucky though, the answer to his question is hidden in a memory still fresh in the man's mind: a battle fought between First Order ships and the Resistance, followed by a hard-won victory and distribution of war spoils. The man and his squadron, they've ransacked a First Order cargo ship and what they've found was enough to earn each of them credits to last them a year.</p><p>Another memory tells Ren that the initial plan was to spend this newly-found fortune on Canto Bight, not Jakku, but a faulty power core thwarted those plans and this is how the man found himself stranded here until his ship was repaired.</p><p>Looking at him now, Ren assumes the pilot has decided to make the best of his situation. Credits can be spent everywhere in the galaxy, even on Jakku. There's booze aplenty and the whores are cheap, what more could one want?</p><p>Ren curls his nose in disgust, retreating from the man's mind and emptying his glass of milk to wash away the taste of bland mediocrity pouring from every of the pilot's pores. He nods at the bartender, gesturing for him to put it on his tab, and saunters over to the drunken Resistance pilot.</p><p>A twinge of smug satisfaction runs through Ren as his shadow falls upon the sabacc table and, for a brief moment, all eyes are on him. The two aliens, one a male Abednedo, the other a female Pantoran, stare at him with unconcealed suspicion while the pilot is already too deep in his cups to greet Ren with anything but exuberant enthusiasm.</p><p>"Well hello there, friend," he says, his speech slurred considerably. "Don't think I've seen you before."</p><p>"I've only recently arrived on Jakku," Ren tells him.</p><p>"A right shithole, isn't it?"</p><p>The man giggles, almost spilling his drink when he scrambles to make space next to him on the bench.</p><p>"Sit down, sit down. Don't be shy. My friends and I were just about to play another round. Join us, why don't you?"</p><p>Who is Ren to deny him?</p><p>He squeezes himself into the tight space between the sabacc table and the booth's wall and sits down. It's far from comfortable but he'll endure it, for now.</p><p>"You have a name?" the Pantoran woman asks him while shuffling the deck of cards with admirable dexterity.</p><p>"Do you?" Ren shoots back.</p><p>The woman laughs and, dealing out the cards, flutters her lashes at him.</p><p>"I'm Ahrja, this is my partner Daverik.”</p><p>The partner in question gives a non-commital grunt but says no more than that. The silent type then.</p><p>"And this," Dasha says, nodding at the Resistance pilot. "Is Antian Darci, or so he says. I'm not sure he can even remember his name after all those pints of lum he had."</p><p>Darci, the name doesn't ring a bell, so Ren doubts he's a highly decorated pilot within the Resistance, nobody with security clearance high enough to have ever known more about Supreme Leader Kylo Ren and General Armitage Hux than their names.</p><p>"Oh, Ahrja is exaggerating. I'm perfectly sober, don't believe a word she's saying," Darci interjects, cheeks puffed in indignation.</p><p>His rancid breath, which smells of stale ale and tabac, tells a different story, but Ren is not here to argue semantics.</p><p>"So you're looking for another player?" he asks Ahrja, eyeing the hand that he's been dealt without picking it up.</p><p>"Sure, if you can place a bet."</p><p>Ahrja smiles at him, resting her chin on her palm as she waits for him to make his move.</p><p>He doesn't own many things of value—not even the clothes on his back are his—but he can be resourceful when he needs to be, and the Force makes it easy to deceive people. He doubts the drunk he stole it from when he made his way over to the sabacc table will miss it much.</p><p>Leaning back, he pulls a small bag of credits from the folds of his tunic and chucks it to Ahrja. She catches it easily and with only one hand, her smile widening as she weighs the bag in her palm.</p><p>"Is that enough?" Ren asks as he picks up the cards.</p><p>"More than enough," Ahrja assures him with another wink.</p><p>Winning against Darci is easy, the fool can barely hold his cards anymore, let alone count his sabacc cards.</p><p>Unfortunately, Asha and her companion Daverik still have their wits about them and they don't appreciate that Ren is trying to get a piece of the cake that is Darci’s fortune.</p><p>The first few rounds, they were content letting Ren win back his initial bet but as soon as it became clear that he'd be a serious opponent their moods soured.</p><p>It doesn't show on their faces, they're too experienced a pair of players for that (though Ren's not sure if Daverik is even capable of another facial expression than stoic indifference) but he can read it in their auras: first playful and bright, now muted and turbulent.</p><p>They’re cheating, of course they are, Ren hasn't expected anything else, but he doesn't call them out. Isn't he cheating too, in a way? Using his powers to strip three pitiful fools of their credits?</p><p>"Now don't you think you've got enough?" Ahrja asks him as he picks up his winnings from the latest round. Her voice is sweet but there's an underlying edge to it that tells Ren her patience with him is running thin.</p><p>"Oh there's plenty more where this came from," Darci says though the question was not directed at him.</p><p>Quick to offer proof for his claim, he fishes a handful more cred-sticks out of his pockets and puts them in the middle of the table.</p><p>The cred-sticks are tempting, enough to buy passage on one of the few ships that leave Jakku each month and build a new, comfortable life away from here, but that's not what Ren is after.</p><p>He pockets his winnings and gets up, excusing himself with a nod. It wouldn't do well to provoke Ahrja and Daverik any more than he already has. Hux wouldn't appreciate it if Ren drew unnecessary attention to the two of them and getting accused of cheating by the locals would surely lead to that.</p><p>"I'd rather not push my luck any further," he explains.</p><p>"Some luck indeed," Ahrja huffs, running a hand through her long hair. "Didn't you say you're a beginner?"</p><p>"I said it's been a while since I last played," Ren corrects her, miffed that he'd have to justify himself in front of this woman.</p><p>It's no lie. The last time he played sabacc was years ago, in another life, when his figure was still lanky and his ears not covered by his hair but adorned by a single, thin braid dangling with every movement.</p><p>"It's a simple game with simple rules, a child could play it."</p><p>"Now aren't you cocksure, big boy," Ahrja muses.</p><p>She looks him over, taking him in with her cow-like eyes, and Ren almost chokes on his own spit when he realises the reason for this unexpected inspection. She's still angry, yes, mourning the credits she has lost thanks to him, but underneath that layer of irritation lies something else: desire.</p><p>He leaves without another word, almost forgetting to pay the bartender for his drink in his haste, and doesn't look back.<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>With the tips of his ears still burning hot and his pockets heavy with cred-sticks, he returns to Hux.</p><p>His flustered appearance earns him a raised brow but luckily no more than that. He doesn't ask what Ren has been up to, not caring enough to show any kind of concern. It's just as well, Ren has no desire to recount his encounter with the Pantoran woman.</p><p>"Glad you made it back after your little hissy fit," is the only thing Hux says when Ren rejoins him at his stall.</p><p>Ren doesn't deign to reply, more interested in tinkering with Hux's tools than arguing with him. Another argument would do nothing to earn him Hux’s favour so Ren shuts his mouth and bides his time.  </p><p>They talk little for the rest of the day and Hux, it seems, is adamant to pretend Ren isn't there when he argues with customers or sits hunched over another faulty power cell.</p><p>Though not used to being ignored, Ren is willing to endure this silent treatment in hopes that it might make Hux more amenable to his suggestions later on. </p><p>It's a more subtle approach, compared to his usual tactics, but Ren can hardly choke Hux into submission in full view of the entire outpost.</p><p>Neither can he impose his will upon Hux. Force-null or not, Hux's mental barriers are unusually strong and the strength and power necessary to break into his mind would not be worth something as trivial as his permission to participate in a podrace.</p><p>Just this once, Ren might attempt to use an entirely different tool to convince Hux: reason.</p><p>"You've been awfully quiet all day."</p><p>Ren looks up, so deeply lost in his own thought that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realise that Hux is indeed talking to him and expecting a reply.</p><p>"I didn't take you for a man eager to indulge in idle chit chat."</p><p>Instead of getting angry, as Ren would've expected, Hux merely shrugs, unaffected by the cheap barb.</p><p>"Usually that doesn't stop you from pestering me," he points out.</p><p>"Perhaps I've changed more than you know."</p><p>Hux clicks his tongue and gets up from his stool, knees cracking as he rises to his full height.</p><p>"Is that so? How about you show me how much you've changed by helping me pack things up? The shadows are getting long and I want to be back home before nightfall."</p><p>Ren grunts his agreement, not bothering to point out that Hux referred to the derelict AT-AT as his home.</p><p>Together, they make quick work of the portable stall and by the time the sun is going down, they're already on their way back to the hideout, Hux's illuminated shop sign safely stowed away on the speeder and his tools packed in the bag that Ren is carrying.</p><p>They arrive at the AT-AT at sunset and hurry inside before the nightly cold that's quick to spread once darkness has settled over the dunes, can overcome them.</p><p>Hux, though his hair is still dark with sweat from the day’s hard work, is quick to light a fire in the small fireplace that doubles as a cooking station and gives a contented sigh when the tinder gives a crackling sound as it ignites.</p><p>Ren, on the other hand, takes it upon himself to put Hux's tools away, neatly organising them on the workbench in the way he knows Hux prefers.</p><p>"Don't think I don't know what you're doing."</p><p>Ren turns and finds Hux glaring at him, arms crossed over his chest and his hips slightly bent as he puts more weight on one leg than the other.</p><p>"What am I doing then?"</p><p>Hux snorts and brushes a hand through his hair, expression shifting into one of displeasure when his fingers get caught in the tangled mess.</p><p>"You're acting coy," Hux accuses. "You want something and you can't get it using your usual tactics, so you're acting all sweet on me. Sweet for your standards at least. You're not very good at it, Ren. So?"</p><p>"So what?"</p><p>"So what is it you want?" Hux presses.</p><p>Ren doesn't answer immediately, his hand sliding in the deep pocket of his trousers where the credit sticks are hidden. He could show them to Hux, tell him how he won them at a game of sabacc and how it'd be enough to buy an old podracer. He could be honest for once in his life. Instead, he answers a question with a question.</p><p>"If I acquired a podracer, would you modify it so I can race in the Wet Season Classic?"</p><p>Huxs groans, the hand in his hair moving to drag over his face in an impressive display of exaggerated exasperation.</p><p>"Are you still on about this race?"</p><p>"Answer my question, Hux," Ren demands, undeterred. "If I acquired a racer, would you lend me your technical expertise?"</p><p>Something in Hux's face shifts, his eyes taking on a more calculating shine as he takes Ren in from head to toe.</p><p>"Careful, Ren, that almost sounded like a compliment."</p><p>Ren huffs a laugh. "Would that make you more amenable to my request? Compliments?"</p><p>Hux chortles. "I won't risk my cover for petty compliments, no."</p><p>"Hardly anybody knows my face," Ren argues. "I'd wear a helmet for the race, use a fake name. Besides, isn't it a risk worth taking? For a ticket out of here and off this force-forsaken planet? Just being here makes my skin crawl."</p><p>"Nobody asked you to come here," Hux reminds him. "And nobody is asking you to stay."</p><p>Hux turns around, effectively ending their argument, and almost stumbles to the ground. He catches himself just in time, clutching his left thigh and hissing through his teeth.</p><p>"What’s wrong?" Ren asks. He doesn't hurry to Hux's aid and keeps his distance instead. The man has his pride and Ren knows better than to offer help that’s not wanted.</p><p>"Nothing is wrong," Hux insists, stubborn as a gill-goat.</p><p>"A blaster bolt to the leg?" Ren wonders aloud.</p><p>"Get out of my head."</p><p>"I wasn't," Ren insists. "You think loudly, especially when agitated."</p><p>Hux groans and sits down, careful not to put any pressure on his leg.</p><p>"It's nothing. A simple injury that didn't heal properly."</p><p>Ren steps closer, coming to a halt in front of Hux and looking down at him and the hand still clutching his upper leg.</p><p>"I could heal it," Ren hears himself offering, not daring to look Hux in the eyes.</p><p>"You?" Hux huffs a laugh. "How?"</p><p>"With the Force."</p><p>He can hear Hux suck in a sharp breath, the sound of it unmistakably skeptical.</p><p>"Of course. The Force. What else? Since when do you know how to use your strange powers to heal? I always assumed they were limited to you choking out people you disagree with."</p><p>So Hux has neither forgotten nor forgiven Ren for how he treated him after Snoke's demise and his ascension to Supreme Leader. Ren isn't surprised. Hux cultivates his resentments like the Alderaan farmers used to cultivate their precious emerald grapes, and he keeps a long list of all those who have ever offended him in his head, only ever crossing one off of it once he's orchestrated their death.</p><p>No doubt, Ren is at the top of that list.</p><p>"I used them to heal before," Ren argues.</p><p>"When?"</p><p>"On Exegol."</p><p>"On Exegol?"</p><p>"I healed the girl. Brought her back to the world of the living when she had perished..."</p><p>There's only silence coming from Hux and it stretches on for so long, Ren can soon take no more. He looks up and meets Hux's eyes.</p><p>His face is slack, his pale lashes almost translucent with how rapidly Hux is blinking.</p><p>"Hux?"</p><p>He snaps out of it, at last, his throat working as he swallows down whatever biting reply must have been lying on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>"You healed...the girl?" he echoes.</p><p>"I did."</p><p>"The girl you tried to kill how many times before that?"</p><p>"It's more complicated than that, Hux. You wouldn't--"</p><p>"No, I wouldn't understand. You're absolutely right about that, Ren. So I'd rather not hear more about how you revived your mortal enemy."</p><p>Ren doesn't argue with him.</p><p>He goes down on his knees and reaches out, his hands hovering over Hux's thigh as he closes his eyes and searches for that warmth inside his chest that he knows he can draw from, the force of life he can coax to the surface and redirect into Hux.</p><p>Underneath him, Hux goes deadly quiet. Ren can feel his eyes on him, watching his every move, ready to defend himself if necessary.</p><p>Hux's mistrust of him isn't unwarranted but at this point, it has become tiresome.</p><p>"Hold still," Ren tells him, eyes still closed.</p><p>Healing doesn't come easy to him. Mending broken bones and knitting torn flesh requires a sensitivity Ren hardly possesses. He can't draw from his fury, his anger for this, instead he has to look for balance, for that soothing light and the rhythmic beating of his own heart to guide him.</p><p>It's a good thing Hux's wound isn't a fresh one, less work for Ren, less risk of complications. As carefully as he can, he seeks out the source of Hux's pain, an inflamed muscle that has never gotten the rest that would've been needed to heal entirely, and as coaxes it to heal as gently as he can. Bodies are fragile, it would do neither him nor Hux any good to force the muscle to regenerate itself.</p><p>Ren doesn't know how much time he spends hunched over Hux but when he pulls away and opens his eyes the room is bathed in golden light, a sure sign that the fire has been burning for a while.</p><p>Hux isn't returning his questioning stare, too preoccupied with his healed leg. Still sitting, he keeps bending and then stretching his leg, an expression of faint marvel on his face.</p><p>"The pain," he whispers, "it's gone."</p><p>He gets up, still a little wobbly but ignoring Ren's outstretched hand, and carefully shifts his weight from one foot to the other.</p><p>"You healed my leg."</p><p>Ren huffs, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Hux out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>"Did you doubt me?"</p><p>"Doubt that you could cause anything but destruction with those rough hands of yours?" Hux shoots back. "Can you blame me? Your track record doesn’t exactly inspire trust."</p><p>Ren wants to argue, if only for argument's sake, but finds he can't. To claim that destruction did not follow him wherever he went would have been the height of hypocrisy, even he knows that. He was proud. once, of the power he wielded, the ease with which he could destroy and more than once Hux fell victim to these powers.</p><p>"Ren?"</p><p>The sound of his name out of Hux's mouth startles him, not because Hux used his name at all, but because he's never heard it spoken so softly, not by Hux.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Ren blinks, feeling the unpleasant heat he's felt when Ahrja propositioned him, creeping up the back of his neck once more, and not knowing what else to say, he simply shrugs and turns away.</p><p>"It was nothing."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Sensitivity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Did you have a fight?"</p><p>Hux blinks and looks up from where he's sitting on his workbench to stare at Graia.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You and Ren?" she clarifies.</p><p>"What makes you think that he and I had a fight?" Hux asks, already turning back to his work of carefully removing grains of sand from Rex's chassis.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone,</p><p>Sorry for the long wait in between chapters but I was sick all week last week. Hope this chapter makes up for the long wait!</p><p>Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, they make me incredibly happy and proud!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>XV. Sensitivity</strong><br/>
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"Did you have a fight?"</p><p>Hux blinks and looks up from where he's sitting on his workbench to stare at Graia.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You and Ren?" she clarifies.</p><p>"What makes you think that he and I had a fight?" Hux asks, already turning back to his work of carefully removing grains of sand from Rex's chassis.</p><p>"Please, hold still, Rex. This is delicate work," he reminds the droid.</p><p>It's of little use. At every stroke of the fine brush, Rex gives a whirring sound that must constitute laughter in the world of droids.</p><p>"He's quite sensitive," Graia provides.</p><p>"Almost all droids are and this model was never intended for extended exposure to desert wind. It's a wonder Rex made it this far without regular cleaning."</p><p>"I'm not talking about Rex." Graia grins. "I'm talking about Ren."</p><p>Hux pauses and turns around, taking off his working goggles to look at Graia.</p><p>"He's an overly sensitive man-child incapable of controlling his own emotions, I couldn't agree more."</p><p>"Don't be dense, Armitage. That isn't what I meant and you know it. Now, how about you answer my question?"</p><p>With a casualness only ever observed in the elderly, Graia folds her hands in her lap and waits for him to do as he's been told and indulge her curiosity like a good boy.</p><p>Hux heaves a long-suffering sigh.</p><p>"We didn't have a fight," he insists. "Ren is—despite all evidence to the contrary—a grown adult. He went out this morning; claiming he wants to familiarise himself with Jakku and the outpost."</p><p>And what is there that Hux could've done to prevent Ren from doing so? The unpleasant truth is that Hux is woefully inferior to Ren when it comes to raw strength.</p><p>"He went to the outpost all by himself? On foot?" Graia presses and there’s a gleeful edge to her otherwise soft smile that has Hux's ears heat up in embarrassment.</p><p>"No," Hux mumbles, feeling caught. "I gave him the speeder."</p><p>"Did you now?"</p><p>"Oh please, what else was I supposed to do? Let him walk through the desert on his own, so that it would be up to me to drag him back, once he inevitably got lost?"</p><p>"I didn't say anything," Graia chuckles, the epitome of innocence with the way she’s sitting there: hands folded in her lap, surrounded by pillows and furs.</p><p>Curse that woman and her curiosity!</p><p>From the workbench, Rex joins into the laughter, purring in delight.</p><p>"Not you too," Hux groans and puts his goggles back on. "You better stop it before I decide that cleaning your circuits every other cycle is not worth the bother."</p><p>Rex’s buzzing only grows louder.</p><p>"Oh Armitage," Graia tries to placate him, "what's a bit of teasing among friends, hm?"</p><p>Hux isn't sure he agrees with her definition of friendship, not that he would consider himself an expert on the topic. His experience with friendships is limited at best, the only person ever deserving of that title perhaps Phasma and even she would’ve not hesitated to kill him, had that meant an advantage for her.</p><p>"Why are we even talking about Ren?” he complains. “I'm not his legal guardian. It's not my concern how he's wasting his time."</p><p>Graia opens her mouth but before a single sound can make it past her lips a loud crash cuts their conversation short.</p><p>Hux jumps up, grabbing his blaster on the way outside, Rex—with his circuits still on display—on his heels.</p><p>"What was that?" Graia calls after him, not as quick to follow as her droid companion.</p><p>"Jawas most likely," Hux grumbles. </p><p>He hasn't forgotten his first unfortunate encounter with those little beasts.</p><p>"Sometimes they come and try to steal the solar panels," he explains and storms outside.</p><p>What greets him when he steps into the sun, finger on the trigger of his blaster, is not a group of wildly chattering jawas. It's Ren. Ren and what looks like the sorry remains of a podracer, tied to Hux’s own speeder with what appears to be a piece of rope.</p><p>"What the--"</p><p>Hux lowers his blaster, confusion and irritation battling for dominance inside him.</p><p>"Ren," he hisses, eyes trained on the piece of junk that’s supposed to be a racer. "Explain yourself."</p><p>But Ren isn't in the habit of explaining himself regularly and so he's taking his sweet time, though there's no doubt that he's heard Hux. Instead, he greets Rex first. The droid, upon spotting Ren, has made its way over to him immediately, buzzing with excitement. </p><p>Faithless wretch.</p><p>Graia is slower to emerge from the AT-AT but she too brightens when she realises it is not a horde of Jawas waiting for her outside.</p><p>"Looks like someone got himself a podracer." She whistles.</p><p>"Indeed," Ren agrees, addressing her instead of Hux who, by now, is fuming.</p><p>"And where, pray tell, did you get that racer?" he asks, eyebrow twitching.</p><p>"I bought it," Ren says, pointedly avoiding Hux's gaze.</p><p>"You bought it?" Hux echoes in disbelief. "With what credits?"</p><p>Unlike him, Ren has, so far, not bothered to find employment, seemingly content with leeching off of Hux and spending his days meditating and training. It's a miracle he hasn't suffered from a sunstroke yet.</p><p>At last, Ren looks at him, his full lips pulled into a grim pout. "I won them."</p><p>Hux narrows his eyes at him, gaze shifting between him and the racer.</p><p>"At a game of sabbac at the cantina," Ren elaborates, though with considerable reluctance.</p><p>"Hope you didn't spend too many credits on it," Graia says and steps closer to inspect the rusty podracer.</p><p>"No matter how little he spent on it, it was too much," Hux mumbles and, holstering his blaster, joins Graia in her observations.</p><p>"The hull is eaten up with rust and the turbine engines sound like they’re on their last legs." He clicks his tongue. "And the Steelton cables have seen better days."</p><p>He turns to look at Ren, fully intending to cuss him out, but the words die on the tip of his tongue. </p><p>Ren is smiling. Though perhaps smiling is too generous a term. There's a sharp edge to the way his lips curl up at the corners and his eyes are dark, almost black with amusement.</p><p>"It's a good thing then, that I have you to fix it."</p><p>"I will not fix this podracer for you so you can get yourself killed in a race."</p><p>"Why not?" Ren argues. "It's unlike you to be concerned about my safety."</p><p>Hux rolls his eyes at him. "Far from it. But I refuse to have this argument again."</p><p>Especially with Graia and Rex still present and privy to their conversation. If his words make it sound like his only reservations concerning the issue stem from concern over Ren's safety, so be it.</p><p>Were it not for the unwanted attention that a human competing in a podrace would bring, then he'd go and sign Ren up himself and watch in delight as the man raced to his own death. But with the constant threat of exposure looming over their heads, the last thing Hux wants or needs is Ren making a fool out of himself while millions are watching.</p><p>"Graia," Hux says, turning towards her. "It's getting late. Let me escort you back to the outpost."</p><p>She blinks slowly, confusion written across her wrinkly forehead, but she doesn't argue, much to Hux's relief.</p><p>"If you don't mind, then I will keep Rex with me for the night, to finish cleaning it."</p><p>Rex, excited at the prospect, gives an affirmative beep. </p><p>Droids, so easily excitable.</p><p>Graia sighs. "Very well."</p><p>She kneels down next to Rex—an impressive feat considering her advanced age—and pets the droid’s head.</p><p>"You behave yourself, yes? And tomorrow you tell me what these two have been up to all night, okay?"</p><p>"Excuse me?" Hux hisses.</p><p>Graia straightens, hands at her hips.</p><p>"No arguing," she says firmly, her tone not unlike that of a parent reprimanding their unruly child. "You two are grown men, Armitage. Stop squabbling like children."</p><p>Behind them, Ren gives a noncommittal grunt; impossible to say whether it's in amusement, agreement, or anger.</p><p>"Speeder. Now,” Hux hisses.</p>
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Graia's grip around his waist is firm and sure, her cheek pressed against his back as he navigates the Jakku with practised ease.</p><p>"You're angry with him."</p><p>Hux perks up but doesn't turn to look at Graia.</p><p>"I'm not having this conversation on a speeder bike," he says, words half-muffled by the shawl wrapped around the lower half of his face.</p><p>"You'd never have this conversation at all, if it was up to you," Graia argues. She isn't wrong.</p><p>"Is that why we're having it now?" he asks. "Because I can't escape you?"</p><p>Graia laughs, cheek still pressed against him, and he can feel the vibrations of it tickling along his spine. At least one of them is having fun.</p><p>"What is it with you and Ren? All you seem to do is argue."</p><p>Hux can hardly deny it, can he? Civil conversations with Ren are far and in between; the only time they're capable of tolerating each other's presence when Hux is working on one of his many commissions and Ren is kneeling on the floor a few feet away from him, meditating.</p><p>Hux breathes out but the stale air remains trapped inside his makeshift mask, warm and tepid.</p><p>"Our relationship...is complicated."</p><p>Behind him, Graia snorts.</p><p>"That much is obvious. It's also obvious that there's some history. You don't need to tell me; I know how you are when it comes to your past, but perhaps getting some advice from a woman who has seen it all in her 84 years of living would help?"</p><p>Advice? What kind of advice could Graia give him that would make living with Ren more bearable? Hux doubts she has any experience with Force-users—if she has ever even heard of such. No amount of experience could prepare one for Ren's volatile temper and childish moods anyhow.</p><p>"Want me to tell you what your problem is?" Graia offers when he remains silent.</p><p>"No," Hux tells her bluntly. "But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"</p><p>"You know me so well, Armitage." She laughs, her grip around his waist momentarily tightening when the speeder bike jumps at a particularly steep sand dune.</p><p>"Communication," Graia says, and Hux almost laughs out loud. It earns him a playful swat on the back.</p><p>"Don't you laugh, Armitage. I've only ever seen you two argue with each other. When was the last time you actually had a proper conversation with Ren, hm?"</p><p>The answer to that would be: never. In the six years, he has known Ren, Hux cannot recall a single incident in which they had managed to put their difference aside, if only for a moment, and indulge in some idle chit-chat. Even their non-violent encounters were marked by barely concealed antagonism and vicious taunts.</p><p>His silence is answer enough for Graia, who hums knowingly.</p><p>"He's not very talkative, I give you that but it's not like you're trying particularly hard. He accompanies you to the market almost every cycle, and the only time you speak with him is when you chew him out for something or the other."</p><p>Indignation crawls its way up Hux's throat and settling there in the form of a thick lump he can't seem to get rid of no matter how often he swallows.</p><p>If only she knew how fond Ren used to be of cutting Hux off mid-speech, not with words or a gesture but with the use of his inhuman powers; how much he delighted in disregarding Hux's opinion; how eager he was to paint Hux as incompetent, as undeserving of his position within The First Order.</p><p>If anything, Hux treats Ren with more kindness than he deserves, allowing him to stay with him and asking so little in return.</p><p>"You don't know Ren as I do," Hux grumbles, expression grim behind his shawl and goggles.</p><p>Would she still speak of him with such kindness, if she knew who Ren was? Would her sympathy for Ren survive the truth? Would it if she knew that, not too long ago, Ren's name was synonymous with terror and fear?</p><p>Then again, would the same be true for Hux? Would she still call him her friend, knowing he's the Starkiller, the same man who annihilated trillions with but a word?</p><p>"No, I don't," Graia agrees, her voice soft. "But I don't need to, to see that you two need to sit down and talk."</p><p>On the horizon, Niima Outpost's familiar outline comes into view, the few streetlights it boosts already lit even though the sun has yet to set.</p><p>"Here we are," Hux says, glad to have an excuse to end this dreadful conversation.</p><p>He escorts Graia to her home—a tiny hut not far from the water well dominating the outpost’s center—despite his eagerness to return to his own home and escape their conversation.</p><p>"Armitage?"</p><p>Graia is standing in the doorway that leads inside, one hand resting on the doorframe as she looks at him with hopeful eyes.</p><p>"Do yourself a favour and talk to him. He's lonely, you know?"</p><p>"Lonely?" Hux echoes. "Did he tell you that? That he's lonely?"</p><p>Ren of all people? The same man who turned his back on those who considered him family, who considered him a son, a pupil, a friend, a prodigy?</p><p>What right does a man have to feel lonely when his loneliness is of his own making?</p><p>"No, he didn't," Graia admits. "But he didn't need to. I can see it in him, in his eyes. He's lost."</p><p>"Aren't we all?"</p><p>Graia's eyes widen. "Armitage?"</p><p>"Good night," he says and takes his leave.</p>
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He finds Ren in the living room, sitting on the bare floor with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, Rex curled up by his side in standby mode. Judging from the healthy shine of Ren's hair, he has made use of Hux's sonic.</p><p>"You've returned," he says as soon as Hux steps into the room.</p><p>"Obviously," Hux says. "And you have used the sonic again."</p><p>Ren opens his eyes and looks up, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. It makes him appear younger, more vulnerable, and Hux wonders if that's what Graia sees when she gazes at Ren? A young man without a place in the world and in need of guidance?</p><p>"I figured you'd prefer it if I didn't smell like an entire bantha herd," Ren argues, making no move to rise from his spot on the floor.</p><p>"Since when do you care for any of my preferences?" Hux shoots back, though the usual sharpness is missing from his words.</p><p>He has no intentions of mending a bond that was never there, but there's no denying that their constant arguments are tiresome. Perhaps, just once, just for today, there can be peace or, at the very least, a temporary truce. Stars know, Hux needs it.</p><p>"Since I've grown tired of being patronised by you," Ren grumbles.</p><p>"To think that the day would come," Hux says, dry humour evident in his voice.</p><p>He takes off his goggles and the worn suede gloves he always wears when outside, then turns to Ren.</p><p>Have a proper conversation, Graia advised him, but where would he start? What is there left to say between them? What is there but bitter resentment and cutting insults?</p><p>Hux steps closer, watching Ren as he watches him, both of them weary of the other.</p><p>"Tell me," he demands before realising his mistake and softening his voice so that his words sound more like the request he intended than the command it sounded like. "How did you win the credits to buy a rusty podracer?"</p><p>Ren throws him a look but doesn't lash out, instead takes Hux's subtle teasing with more dignity than Hux ever thought him capable of.</p><p>"I told you, didn't I?" he says, rolling his shoulders until there's an audible crack. "I won them at a game of sabacc."</p><p>"I didn't know sabacc was among the many things Snoke taught his apprentice," Hux says dryly.</p><p>He sits down next to Ren— close enough to appear engaged in their conversation, far away enough to keep himself out of Ren's reach—and crosses his legs before him in an imitation of Ren's own posture.</p><p>If Ren notices, then he doesn't show.</p><p>"What makes you think it was Snoke who taught me?" he asks and Hux swears there is a glimmer of amusement in his brown eyes.</p><p>"Your scoundrel of a father then?" Hux guesses. "Or one of the barbarians you called your knights?"</p><p>"Neither."</p><p>Ren's answer is short, finite, and Hux knows that he's not going to get more of an explanation than that. Another question then, though Hux has a distinct feeling that conversing with Ren will turn out to be akin to pulling teeth without anesthesia: excruciatingly slow and painful.</p><p>"So you just happened to step foot into the cantina-" Because where else would he find people willing to waste away their money and time at sabacc tables? "-and decided to swindle some unassuming fool out of their credits?"</p><p>"You think I cheated?" Ren asks, nose scrunched up in affront, and Hux can't help but chuckle. Of all the things to get indignant over...</p><p>"Can you blame me?" he shoots back. "How many times have you used your powers to manipulate people? It's not unreasonable of me to think you did the same to obtain the credits you needed to set your ridiculous podracing plan into motion."</p><p>"I don't need the Force to win at a game of sabacc," Ren insists. "To use my powers for something as trivial as this would be beneath me."</p><p>Hux scoffs and rolls his eyes.</p><p>"Forgive me for not believing that you have any dignity left after you kissed that scavenger girl."</p><p>Ren shuts his mouth with a resounding click, embarrassment briefly tinting his cheeks a fetching shade of pink.</p><p>"I shouldn't have told you," he mumbles, pouting.</p><p>"No," Hux agrees with a faint smile. "You shouldn't have."</p><p>Silence settles between them but it's neither suffocating nor tense. It's, for a lack of a better word, companionable, though Hux would never go so far and call the two of them companions.</p><p>"It was gratitude, no more," Ren whispers into the silence but Hux hears him well enough.</p><p>"Gratitude?" he echoes. "What for?"</p><p>Ren looks up, his ridiculous face so vulnerable Hux feels ashamed as if he's looking at something he's not supposed to see.</p><p>"For pulling her back from the brink of death." </p><p>"Another monumental mistake on your part." Hux clicks his tongue and turns away, incapable of looking at Ren's forlorn face any longer.</p><p>"It was a debt repaid," Ren explains though Hux hasn't asked. "She did the same for me when she had every reason to leave me dying, swallowed up by water and lightning."</p><p>Hux doesn't move, every muscle in his body tense as he struggles to keep his composure.</p><p>"A debt repaid?" he asks, eyes firmly fixed on the droid curled up at Ren's feet, in sleeping mode and blissfully unaware. Hux almost envies it. "Since when do you care for repaying your debts? Since when do you care about anybody but yourself?"</p><p>The worn fabric of his trousers rustles slightly as he balls his hands into fists on his knees, the motion pulling at the coarse linen. His skin is red, dotted with freckles and his veins stand out, stark-white, like scars similar to those adorning his chest.</p><p>"I repay my debts," Ren insists and Hux thinks he detects a hint of his former petulance, though it’s faint and lacks its usual force.</p><p>"Do you now?" Hux wonders aloud, leaning into amusement more than anger. "As far as I remember, I've never been repaid for the ordeal that was dragging your lifeless body to a shuttle while an entire planet was collapsing around us."</p><p>He can hear Ren move, can see the shift out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn't get up, but he leans in closer, wordlessly demanding Hux's attention by invading his personal space so shamelessly. It's eerily reminiscent of that day on the bridge, when Ren would argue with him about a traitorous stormtrooper and the advantages of a clone army. </p><p>Oh, how things have changed and yet stay the same.</p><p>Hux allows Ren the satisfaction, facing him once more, the two of them so close Hux can feel Ren's breath ghosting over his skin. It doesn't intimidate him in the slightest. It never has. Ren's face isn't half as monstrous as he seems to believe it is.</p><p>"I didn't kill you, did I?" Ren asks, his eyes unblinking as his lips keep moving. "Even though I could have. Should have, after Snoke died. You were a liability."</p><p>Hux raises a single brow—and he knows it catches Ren's attention because this close, even the slightest flicker of his eyes is noticeable—and lifts his chin in prideful defiance.</p><p>"You needed me," Hux argues. "Because you knew the Order would’ve fallen apart without me. And because you didn't care one bit for it."</p><p>Ren opens his mouth to argue, but Hux is quick to nip any flimsy excuses in the bud.</p><p>"Don't, Ren. Spare us both the embarrassment of you trying to deny something we both know is true. Don't try and argue that I'm alive today because of some misguided sense of obligation."</p><p>"Why are you?"</p><p>Hux blinks, momentarily confused before he realises what Ren is asking.</p><p>"Because I'm not stupid, Ren," he grumbles. "That's why."</p><p>"Pryde claimed to have eliminated the spy...you."</p><p>"Oh please," Hux groans. "Don't tell me that surprised or, stars forbid, hurt you."</p><p>Ren shakes his head, his hair so long now it reaches his shoulders, long enough to be worn in a messy bun atop his head. He often wears it that way now, so often in fact, Hux only now realises how much time has passed since they last saw each other in that corridor aboard the Steadfast. Another time, another life.</p><p>"No," Ren insists and for once Hux is inclined to believe him. "It didn't surprise me that you'd betray me. But it did surprise me how far you were willing to go to see me brought low. How much you were willing to sacrifice. Not your life, I know how little you value that, but the Order. The only thing you've ever felt an ounce of loyalty for."</p><p>A shudder runs down Hux's spine, despite the fire crackling in the pit, and all the hairs on his neck stand up as Ren's gaze briefly meets his before falling lower, to his trembling lips. </p><p>Hux presses them together, refusing Ren the satisfaction of seeing him disconcerted by such careless words.</p><p>"You presume to know me," he hisses through clenched teeth. "You don't. You know nothing about me."</p><p>It's true, the First Order had his loyalty, but so had Rae Sloane. Hux doubts Ren has ever even heard her name. The readily available archives of the First Order had never been of any interest to him, or only so much as they pertained to his inane search for Force artifacts.</p><p>Ren knows nothing.</p><p>"You think I was willing to sacrifice the Order for you? I was trying to save it from you and your disastrous leadership. Tell me, why take the title of Supreme Leader when all you cared for was the scavenger girl and a dead man?"</p><p>The way Ren looks at him, he resembles a caged animal, a Loth-wolf backed into a corner, ready to snap at whoever dares to step too close. His eyes are so dark, they’re black and Hux catches himself thinking that he misses the scar that used to run below his eye, the angry red colour such a disconcerting yet intriguing contrast to the brown hue of his irises.</p><p>"And what do you know about me, Hux? What do you know about the things I’ve suffered and the pains I’ve endured? What do you know about death? You've escaped the fall of the Order with your life. I did not!"</p><p>He's angry. Hux can feel it in the heat that is coming off Ren in waves; can feel it in the way the air around them is charged with electricity, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.</p><p>Yet for all his anger, Ren doesn't lash out, doesn't throw a tantrum like Hux expected him to. He simply sits and stares, trembling with the effort to keep himself in check.</p><p>Hux is almost impressed.</p><p>"Tell me then," he prompts.</p><p>"Tell you what?" Ren snaps and Hux can't help but smile.</p><p>"Tell me how you died."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Revelations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I'm curious," Ren admits. "How did you survive when the rest of the Order fell?"</p><p>Clicking his tongue, Hux turns away, unwilling to look at Ren any longer it seems.</p><p>"Paranoia and dumb luck," he says, chewing on his lower lip. "You are aware of my history with Pryde, I assume? It was only a matter of time until he decided to finish what my father, his dear friend, had started. When I went to report that day, I came prepared. A blaster vest will not make you invincible, but it will make a blaster bolt to the chest a lot less finite."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read, give kudos, and comment. Thank you also for your patience! Hopefully, the length of this chapter will make up a little for the long wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>XVI. Revelations</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>"Tell me how you died."</p><p>Hux looks at him, eyes unblinking, his pale lashes like strands of spun glass.</p><p>Ren would've called him sadistic for asking such a thing, for details of his demise, if only his expression weren't one of such genuine intrigue.</p><p>"Is that what you want to know?" he asks nevertheless, defensive by default. "What death feels like?"</p><p>"No," Hux says, tilting his head as he takes in Ren's face, gaze lingering on the spot where his scar used to be. "I know what death feels like. What I want to know, Ren, is: did you suffer? I sure hope you did."</p><p>His tone is casual, conversational even, a baffling contrast to the cruelty of his words.</p><p>"Would that please you?" Ren wonders. "To know I died with my body broken and fractured? Swatted away with a flick of the wrist like a buzzing fly?"</p><p>Hux's expression hardly changes, still deliberately neutral, but this close he can’t hide the way his irises dilate at Ren’s revelation.</p><p>"Yes," Ren assures him. "I suffered."</p><p>"Good."</p><p>"How did you survive?"</p><p>Hux throws him a look. "Why would you care to know?"</p><p>Defensive as always and hellbent on irritating Ren at every possibility. It appears exile hasn't changed Hux all that much. It's almost refreshing; the one constant in Ren's life and it turns out to be Hux's volatile personality.</p><p>"I'm curious," Ren admits. "How did you survive when the rest of the Order fell?"</p><p>Clicking his tongue, Hux turns away, unwilling to look at Ren any longer it seems.</p><p>"Paranoia and dumb luck," he says, chewing on his lower lip. "You are aware of my history with Pryde, I assume? It was only a matter of time until he decided to finish what my father, his dear friend, had started. When I went to report that day, I came prepared. A blaster vest will not make you invincible, but it will make a blaster bolt to the chest a lot less finite."</p><p>Ren holds his tongue, waiting for Hux to elaborate. </p><p>Hux is wrong in assuming that he knew what he was doing when he put Pryde in charge and effectively demoted Hux to his personal assistant, but he's not so foolish as to tell him that. Of course, it was meant to humiliate Hux but he wasn't aware of a shared past. All he knew, when he made the decision to have Allegiant General Pryde on board, was that he was of old Imperial blood and eager to bring back the glory of the old days.</p><p>"I admit, my plan to make it off the Steadfast wasn't quite as elaborate. Without the help from a few unexpected sources, I would've never made it."</p><p>Ren perks up, the image of the makeshift grave outside their home cutting through his thoughts. Of course, Hux had help fleeing to Jakku.</p><p>"That Officer?" he presses, sifting through his memory for a name. "Dopheld Mitaka?"</p><p>It wouldn't surprise him. The measly officer had always been loyal to a fault, his entire being revolving around Hux and his hard-earned approval, his mind flooded with thoughts of him and the many ways in which Hux would, one day, show his gratitude.</p><p>"No," Hux tells him flat-out, the expression on his slim face exasperated and amused all at once. "Not Mitaka. You've always confused his loyalty to the First Order with infatuation for me."</p><p>"You've never known his thoughts as I did," Ren argues, remembering, involuntarily, the depravities Dopheld Mitaka believed to have expertly hidden in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind; all of them featuring one General Armitage Hux.</p><p>"You did?"</p><p>If this unexpected revelation surprises or disgusts Hux then he's hiding it well. If anything, he appears curious, eyebrows raised as he brings one finger—gloveless, Ren realises; he's never seen Hux without gloves on before—to his lips and tapping it against the pink flesh.</p><p>Ren doesn't reply.</p><p>"How unexpected," Hux concedes, looking—much to Ren's confusion—regretful. "That could have been useful."</p><p>"What’s that supposed to mean?" Ren snaps, tone unnecessarily sharp and he regrets his outburst the moment Hux's wide-eyed gaze settles on him once more.</p><p>"Please, Ren, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Hux says, his fingers pressed to his lower lip, applying just enough pressure to turn the soft flesh a rosy pink. "I'm sure you weren't above offering the scavenger girls similar things in exchange for her loyalty. What was it you told her? ‘You're nothing? But not to me?’ How could any woman resist such honeyed words?"</p><p>Hux's biting sarcasm he's familiar with, but the humiliation burns brightly nonetheless and Ren involuntarily lowers his gaze, away from Hux's sea glass eyes and fiery hair.</p><p>"You know?" Ren mumbles, defensive and hating himself for it. He shouldn't have to justify himself in front of Hux; doesn't owe the man anything, least of all an explanation.</p><p>He can hear Hux breathe out through his nose, the sound unmistakably peevish.</p><p>"What kind of fool do you take me for? Did you truly believe I'd simply take your word for it and believe that...that a girl killed Snoke, while you stood by and watched? Who do you think reviewed the surveillance tapes of that day, Ren?"</p><p>Ren should've known. Hux's submission was too easy, came too quickly, all it took had been invisible fingers around his neck and a few hissed words before he collapsed to the ground and proclaimed Ren the new Supreme Leader. Back then, he didn't care whether or not Hux's demonstration of loyalty came from a place of deceit; too busy was he chasing after a shadow. But now?</p><p>"Why didn't you use that knowledge to your advantage?" he asks, still not looking up.</p><p>"And risk a civil war within the First Order?" Hux clicks his tongue. "Our Supreme Leader was dead—thanks to you—Phasma was dead, and you had decided to make yourself our new sovereign, all while we were in active conflict with the Resistance. I was willing to indulge you, for the moment, so that the First Order might survive this ordeal. It was never supposed to last for very long."</p><p>Hux sighs and Ren lifts his gaze just enough to peer at him from under his lashes. He looks...tired, almost haggard, and impossibly young at the same time. The youngest general the First Order had ever seen and yet here he sits, in the belly of an old AT-AT, the weight of an entire galaxy on his shoulders.</p><p>"It didn't, did it?" he asks but Ren has a feeling Hux’s words are not directed at him. "Last very long, that is. It's all gone. Death and dust and ash. And all that I have left is you. Makes you want to believe in divine punishment."</p><p>The bitterness in Hux’s voice is so strong, Ren can taste it in the back of his throat.</p><p>“Help me then,” he urges, before quickly correcting himself. “Help yourself. Half of the prize money is yours if you can swallow your resentment long enough to have me compete in that race.”</p><p>Hux glares at him, always so easily provoked. “I swallowed my resentment for over five years. Unlike you, I was willing to put my personal feelings aside, to serve the greater good.”</p><p>“So you agree to my proposal?” Ren presses on.</p><p>But Hux hesitates, eyes narrowing as he searches Ren’s face for...something.</p><p>“Half of the winnings and you’ll be gone?” he asks.</p><p>“If that’s what you wish,” Ren is quick to assure him.</p><p>It’s a lie. He has no intentions of leaving. Not until he knows why it is Hux he sees in his dreams and why the Force saw it fit to grant both of them a second life. Hux wouldn’t understand. His understanding of the Force is fractional at best and he has no real desire to learn. At best, he would scoff at Ren would he try and explain his reasons for being here.</p><p>Better to lie and hope that, by the time the race is over and their deal is done, Ren has already found the answers he seeks.</p><p>“It is,” Hux tells him, not privy to Ren’s circling thoughts.</p><p>Nevertheless, Ren is pleased. Tempted to offer Hux his hand and seal their deal, he aborts the motion halfway through when Hux gets up and dusts off his trousers with a displeased huff. He straightens, once satisfied, and crosses his arms behind his back.</p><p>“Well then,” Hux says, looking much like the general he used to be, despite his ragged clothes and untamed hair. “What are you waiting for?”</p><p>Stunned into momentary silence, Ren scrambles to get up on his feet.</p><p>“You want to start now?” he asks, not having expected this extent of eagerness from Hux; not after his initial hesitation. “This late in the day? The sun won’t be up for much longer.”</p><p>Hux isn’t deterred.</p><p>“All the more reasons to get to work. I want to see that podracer of yours.”</p><p>He’s out of the door without another word wasted between them and Ren is left with no choice but to follow after him.</p><p>Outside, the sun is low on the horizon, just as predicted, and casting the neverending desert in light as red as blood. Despite the hour, the heat is still oppressive, though Ren knows how quickly this will change once the sun has set. He’s not particularly keen on spending any prolonged time in freezing temperatures but Hux seems to have no such concerns.</p><p>Already, he has made his way to the podracer, eyeing it with the same intensity an esteemed collector might eye a noble steed.</p><p>He turns when Ren approaches him, a look of grim determination on his face.</p><p>“Get in the cockpit and start the ignition,” Hux tells him, tone brooking no argument.</p><p>The cockpit wasn't made with somebody of Ren's build in mind, but he manages to squeeze himself into the single seat, the synth-leather of the seat covers torn and rotten and starts the ignition as requested.</p><p>Nothing happens.</p><p>"It worked before," he grumbles, giving it a second, third, and fourth try, all with equally disheartening results.</p><p>"And now it doesn't."</p><p>Hux has come up around the side of the racer, taking a brief peek at the controls before he moves to the primary intake turbine.</p><p>"It's a miracle it has survived as long as it has," he says, brows furrowed in concentration as he pries a small latch open with his fingers. "From the way it looks, the circuits are all fried. The turbine drive motor is on its last leg and you'll definitely need a new energy binder plate. Please tell me you haven't spent all your credits on this piece of junk?"</p><p>Ren merely looks at him, refusing to dignity Hux's question with an answer and thus confirming his suspicion.</p><p>"You're an engineer," he says instead. "You appreciate a challenge."</p><p>Hux slams the latch shut with a grunt. "I appreciate a challenge. I don't appreciate it when I'm expected to do the impossible."</p><p>"Not impossible," Ren argues, meeting Hux's questioning gaze without hesitation. "Not for you."</p><p>Hux's mouth falls open, then closes with an audible snap as the bridge of his nose turns a scarlet shade of red. He whirls around before Ren can tease him for it, hands balled into fists.</p><p>"Well," He pauses, scrambling for words, his back shuddering as he swallows thickly. "Perhaps not for me. Come already, Ren. The sun is about to set and I'd rather not have you freeze to death out here."</p><p>Ren huffs in defiance but does as he's told, getting out of the podracer with some effort.</p><p>"Would you not?" he challenges Hux, walking after him at a more measured pace. "Wouldn’t that please you? Me dying a gruesome death out here? Unknown, unmourned?"</p><p>Hux doesn't stop walking, his posture as tall and stiff as Ren remembers from their days as co-commanders on the Finalizer. When Hux throws a look over his shoulder and there's cold amusement glinting in his eyes.</p><p>"Who would mourn you, Ren? Who would mourn any one of us? We're the last of our kind, as much as it pains me to admit it.” He shrugs, the casual motion belying the heaviness of his words. “Besides, I can't have my pilot die from frostbite before he wins the Wet Season Classic, now can I?"<br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/>Hux is the first to wake and he doesn't care much if his moving around the house disturbs Ren's own rest. Hurrying from one corner to the other, he's too preoccupied with packing his tools and the various trinkets he intends to sell to give any consideration to Ren.</p><p>Ren wakes with a groan, lashes fluttering as his eyes adjust to the bright light coming in through to the opened front latch. His sleep has been dreamless, peaceful even, and Hux, in his selfishness, had to ruin it.</p><p>"Get up already, I'm not waiting any longer."</p><p>Hux's tone is impatient but Ren believes to detect a hint of amusement, and that’s enough to tear him from sleep’s sweet embrace.</p><p>He sits up, frowning until the world shifts into focus, with Hux's tall figure looming above him.</p><p>Dressed already, with his backpack slung over one shoulder and Rex running excited, little circles around his feet, he looks much like the scavengers roaming Jakku's ship graveyards.</p><p>"Waiting?" Ren echoes as he stretches his aching muscles. Oh, how he longs for a proper bed, even if it only were one of the First Order's narrow bunks. Anything better than a few furs laid out on the unforgiving ground.</p><p>"Yes," Hux says with a terse nod. "Or do you think your podracer is going to repair itself? Get up already, or all the best parts will be gone long before we make it to Niima Outpost."</p><p>Confusion still buzzing in his head, Ren gets up. There is no point arguing with Hux, not this early in the morning, and from what Ren can gather, it's in his own interest to comply.</p><p>"Shower first," he grumbles as stumbles to his feet, certain that Hux will allow him this one indulgence. Personal hygiene is something Hux has always been meticulous about, and if he insists on taking Ren to Niima Outpost with him—for reasons that aren't quite clear to Ren yet—then he's certain Hux would prefer his companion not to smell like stale sweat and dusty blankets.</p><p>He doesn't wait for permission, simply heads into the bathroom and closes the screeching door behind him before hopping into the sonic. For a brief moment, he's tempted to make Hux wait, petty revenge for waking him so early and rousing him from his deep slumber, but ultimately decides against it. The satisfaction of it would be minimal at best, and spending the rest of the day with a sulking Hux isn’t a bargain Ren is willing to strike in exchange for such short-lived entertainment.</p><p>When he returns to the living room—the towel he shares with Hux slung around his waist—he finds that Hux has already left, though noises coming in from the outside tell him that he hasn't been abandoned. Not yet.</p><p>Ren puts on the cleanest clothes he can find and follows after Hux. He finds him on his hover bike, already wearing his goggles, and his mouth covered by a scarf he has slung around the lower half of his face.</p><p>Ren doesn't need to be told what to do. He gets on the hoverbike, shifting into place behind Hux and curling an arm around his narrow waist.</p><p>It's awkward still,l to be this close to Hux without the intention of inflicting violence, and without the padded layers of a First Order uniform like a wall between them. Like this, Hux appears more vulnerable, more fragile, so much more human than Ren ever thought he could be.</p><p>It strikes him as odd—an impossible oversight on his part—that he never saw it when he gazed at Hux during the days of their co-commandership. Slender, frail, delicate: those weren't words he used to associate with Hux. Never once did Ren think Hux could not take whatever he threw at him, be it petty insults or physical violence.</p><p>Looking at him now, with his arms around that narrow waist and his legs pressing against Hux's thighs, Ren wonders what else he doesn't know about Hux.</p><p>Granted, he never considered there to be much to know about him at all: the only child of an Imperial soldier, born out of wedlock, considered an embarrassment by his father. A story so dreadfully similar to thousand others, it's a miracle Hux has become anything else but cannon fodder for the First Order.</p><p>Hux should be dead, Ren thinks as he watches the desert move past them at a blinding speed. Instead, he's here, having survived his father, Snoke, Pryde, even Ren himself.</p><p>He wants to ask: How? and Why? Why you? Why not somebody as powerful in the Force as Snoke? Or as experienced as Pryde? Why the thin, redheaded boy terrified of looking his father in the eyes?</p><p>He doesn't; holds his tongue instead. Hux would only think of his questions as thinly veiled insults and refuse to answer. Not too long ago, he would've been right to make that assumption, but things have changed and all that motivates Ren now is curiosity, not outright malice.</p><p>His thoughts come to a screeching halt when the speeder does the same and Hux—never one to waste a single second of his life—wriggles out of Ren's hold and gets off the bike.</p><p>A quick look around tells Ren that, despite Hux's fear of arriving too late, the marketplace is empty, the scrap dealers and other merchants still busy laying out their wares or waiting for the scavengers to return from their first forage of the day.</p><p>"Come," Hux tells Ren, throwing a look over his shoulder, his whole posture radiating eagerness. "I might have need of your talents."</p><p>"My talents?" Ren echoes.</p><p>He follows at a deliberately leisurely pace, refusing to be ordered about by Hux of all people.</p><p>"Or whatever you call those powers of yours," Hux amends, his lips curling in displeasure at the mere mention of the Force.</p><p>It dawns on Ren then, what Hux intends to do.</p><p>"You want me to trick people into giving you the parts you need," he growls.</p><p>His affront is not born out of some misguided moral objections—even he is not that much of a hypocrite—but simply out of personal insult. That Hux dares to think Ren would utilise his powers for such a menial task...</p><p>Hux waves him off.</p><p>"It's either that or no podracer. Do you think I took you with me for the pleasure of your company? If I had credits enough to buy all the parts we need, do you think I’d still be here? No, I would've made it off this planet ages ago. Now swallow your pride and follow me."</p><p>The sting those words bring is minuscule but undeniable. Hux's tongue has always been sharp, Ren shouldn't be surprised.</p><p>He catches up with a low grumble, comforting himself with the knowledge that more often than not, Hux paid for his cheek with pain and blood.</p><p>They walk through Niima Outpost's marketplace in mostly comfortable silence, Hux too busy looking out for the parts he needs to bother with conversation and Ren not quite awake enough to make an attempt at it.</p><p>Some of what they need they find without having to search for long: Steelton control cable and plates of scrap metal Ren imagines Hux has plans to repurpose for the podracer's hull. Other parts aren't as easy to come by.</p><p>"While you were blissfully asleep," Hux tells him as they wind their way through the slowly filling marketplace, "I had another look at the podracer and I fear there's nothing I can do about the faulty turbine drive motor. It will need to be replaced."</p><p>"And I assume it's expensive," Ren says, evading two screeching children playing catch between the market stalls.</p><p>"It wouldn't be if we weren't on Jakku. But here, such things are rare. Our best bet is, unfortunately, Unkar Plutt."  Hux's face darkens at the name, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.</p><p>"And I take it, this Unkar Plutt isn’t very likely to give us what we want?" Ren asks.</p><p>"That depends on what we're able to offer in return and how desperate we appear. Which is how you’ll come into play. With your powers--"</p><p>Whatever Hux is about to say, it’s drowned out by another high-pitched screech and before Ren can do so much as blink, they find themselves surrounded by a horde of overly excited children.</p><p>"Armitage!" one of them squeals, her short pigtails flapping like the wings of a porg as she hops from one foot to the other in obvious excitement.</p><p>Another dares to go so far as to tug on the hem of Hux's coat, the expression on their dirt-streaked face near reverent.</p><p>"What--"</p><p>A chorus of 'Armitage' cuts him off and Ren watches with increasing confusion as Hux raises a hand and, immediately, the excited chatter of half a dozen voices dies down.</p><p>"Now is that any way to greet a man?" he asks, voice firm but gentle, so very unlike anything Ren has ever heard coming out of his mouth.</p><p>The children are properly chastised either way, their small heads hanging low in shame for a heartbeat before they mumble a half-hearted apology in perfect unison.</p><p>Hux rewards them with a faint smile. "That's better. Now, what are you all doing out so early? Don't you have classes to attend?"</p><p>The children laugh at that, Hux's words apparently hilarious for reasons Ren can't fathom.</p><p>"Silly!" the pig-tailed girl giggles. "It's Benduday. No classes on Benduday."</p><p>"Ah, of course. How very silly of me indeed." Hux nods and reaches into his coat pockets, producing a handful of what appears to be candy, wrapped in brown paper. </p><p>"Will you accept this as an apology for my embarrassing blunder?" he asks and bends down, presenting the sweet delicacies like an offering to a king.</p><p>The youngsters don't hesitate and soon enough Hux's palm is empty and the sounds of contented chewing rise around them.</p><p>With dark caramel gluing their teeth together, the group looks up at Hux, perhaps hoping for more. But they're disappointed. Hux, with his hands now folded behind his back, stares at them, pose and expression not unlike that of a stern but fair teacher.</p><p>Ren frowns.</p><p>"Well?" Hux prompts them gently.</p><p>"Thank you, Armitage!" the children sing-song, having realised that there won't be any more treats today.</p><p>Hux nods, pleased. "Now off with you, I have business to attend to. I'll be back tomorrow, so enough with the long faces."</p><p>He shoos them away and the group spreads like butterflies, their playful laughter echoing in the desert long after they're gone from sight.</p><p>Ren, mind reeling from what has just played out in front of his eyes, stares at Hux.</p><p>"Ask already," Hux snaps at him when no words are forthcoming, all gentleness gone from his voice.</p><p>"That was...unexpected," Ren admits.</p><p>"What?" Hux challenges. "That children are capable of following basic commands while you’re not?"</p><p>Ren ignores the barb, recognising it for the cheap attempt at deflection it is.</p><p>"Do you make a habit out of carrying candy with you, to hand out to children?" he asks instead.</p><p>"If you must know: yes. Children are useful."</p><p>"Is that so?"</p><p>Hux breathes an exasperated sigh.</p><p>"Use your brain for once, Ren. Children are usually ignored, invisible to most and thus privy to more things people realise," he explains.</p><p>"So you're using them as informants."</p><p>"They share all kinds of useful information with me and I reward them in return," Hux insists. "That's all there is to it."</p><p>Oh, but it isn't. Hux may claim it’s no more than a business transaction, but Ren knows that's only half of the truth. He could feel it; see it in the tender smile on Hux's face when those children begged him for sweets: how fond he was of their high voices and round faces.</p><p>It seems wrong that a man responsible for the death of billions can be so kind to a creature as weak as a child.</p><p>"If you say so," Ren says, leaving it at that.</p><p>They continue their search for more parts without further interruptions, though here and there, merchants greet them on their way to Unkar Patt's concession stand, calling Hux over to have him look at their merchandise. Occasionally, they even bother to extend a greeting to Ren.</p><p>"What can you tell me about Unkar Plutt?" Ren asks when they take their leave from another junk trader Hux bought some smaller parts from. So far, he hasn’t made use of Ren’s powers. Content, it appears, to barter in a more traditional way.</p><p>"I can tell you that he hates me," Hux says, nonchalant.</p><p>"What a surprise."</p><p>Hux throws him a warning look that Ren shrugs off.</p><p>"Careful, Ren. Your sarcasm is not appreciated."</p><p>"He hates you then. What else?"</p><p>"You've met him. He's the Crolute who sold you the podracer. At least that's where I assume you got it from. There aren't many other people on Jakku with a whole collection of ships in their possession. He's unpleasant, ruthless, interested in credits and credits only. He's the junk boss of Jakku, doling out ration packs to scavengers in exchange for scraps collected from the Imperial shipwrecks littering the desert. Is that enough for you? Or do you want me to tell you his shoe sizes as well?"</p><p>Ren huffs, amused by Hux's prickliness more than annoyed.</p><p>"Could you?"</p><p>Hux glares at him before turning away and increasing his walking speed ever so slightly, forcing Ren to adjust his own pace if he wants to keep up.</p><p>Hux is right in assuming that Ren bought the old podracer from Unkar Plutt, though back then he cared little for the name of the man, only for what he had to offer.  </p><p>As he and Hux make their way to what the locals jokingly refer to as Plutt's concession stand, Ren wonders what could've possibly happened between Plutt and Hux for there to be such animosity. It's obvious the rest of the villagers hold Hux in high regard, are thankful for his many services, and open with their appreciation for him, but Plutt seems to be the exception to the rule.</p><p>The concession stand is an architectural abomination. One of the few permanent structures in the village, it sticks out like a sore thumb with its heavy durasteel walls fashioned out of scraps of an old cargo crawler. Sitting behind the cross-barred concession window is Unkar Plutt, his gelatinous body tissue sagging unsettlingly, making him look like a bloated water corpse.</p><p>His pinhead eyes narrow as soon as he spots Hux.</p><p>"If you're here to argue about that podracer I sold your friend then you can turn right around. No take-backs. You know the rules, Red."</p><p>Next to him, Ren can feel Hux bristle at the nickname.</p><p>"It's a good thing then, that I haven't come to argue with you whether or not the podracer you sold my companion is worth more than a pile of bantha dung. We both know it's not."</p><p>Unkar Plutt growls, the sound not unlike the mating calls of the crul-whales native to the crolute’s homeworld.</p><p>"I'm not here to argue with you," Hux assures him as he pulls a small pouch from his bag, dangling it temptingly in front of Unkar Plutt's deformed face. "I'm here to buy from you."</p><p>Plutt's eyes widen at the sight and Ren is sure that, had he possessed a pair of ears, they would've perked up in poorly concealed interest at the unmistakable jingle of credsticks coming from inside the pouch.</p><p>"And what is it that you need and I have?"</p><p>There’s some reluctance in his voice that has Ren perk up. It seems Plutt is not completely blinded by the prospect of easy money. There's greed in his expression, yes, but his aura is bright with cunning and his distrust of Hux is making him more careful than he would’ve been otherwise.</p><p>"A turbine drive motor," Hux says bluntly and is promptly met with laughter.</p><p>"And why would you think I have a turbine drive motor of all things?" Plutt asks, the sagging skin of his still trembling with the aftermath of his amusement. Ren cringes at the sight.</p><p>Hux is unimpressed, his expression carefully neutral, though he can't quite hide the arrogant curve of his brow that seems to be present whenever he's forced to associate with those he considers lesser. Ren knows the look well.</p><p>"You can play those games with the scavengers selling you their scraps, but spare me. I know you have one and I know you're willing to sell. So name your price."</p><p>It dawns on Ren then, while Plutt is rubbing at his receding chin, contemplating Hux's offer, that he's not here to simply take what it is that Hux needs, but to subtly manipulate until they reach a bargain Hux deems satisfactory.</p><p>No doubt, it'd be wiser not to break the crolute’s mind completely, though Ren knows he'd enjoy seeing him reduced to a blubbering simpleton. But manipulating the mind in such a way that the manipulated doesn’t feel the gentle pull steering them to a certain decision, requires more finesse than Ren can usually be bothered to deploy.</p><p>Of course, it’s within his power to influence Plutt in such a way, but Ren can't shake the feeling that Hux is testing him.</p><p>Squinting in the sun, Plutt keeps looking back and forth between the two of them, waiting for a catch that doesn't come. Hux waits, eternally patient, the pouch containing the credits still in hand.</p><p>Ren doesn't move, doesn't blink, stands by Hux's side like a hired thug not paid to speak, but already, he's reaching out with the Force and wriggling his way inside Plutt's head.</p><p>The crolute's thoughts are painfully predictable. His entire being is focused on the credits Hux is offering, his mind abuzz with calculations of profit and the many ways in which he could cheat Hux.</p><p>A gentle push in the right direction is enough to convince Plutt that deceiving Hux is not in his best interest, a second is needed to also make him believe that a lower price than the one that first manifested in his head when Hux dangled his savings in front of him is the safer bet.</p><p>Ren is careful not to overdo it and pulls away when he can feel the slightest hint of resistance in the crolute's mind, his monumental greed rebelling against another of Ren's attempts to lower the price.</p><p>When he retreats from Plutt's mind he does so carefully, leaving no trace of his intrusion, and nods at Hux, who throws him a curious look before turning his attention back on Plutt.</p><p>"600 credits," Plutt says, at last, his voice wavering a little. "Take it or leave it."</p><p>Hux answers with a wickedly pleased smile that has the hairs on the back of Ren's neck stand up to attention.</p><p>"I'll take it."</p><p>They leave once the agreed-upon amount of credits has changed hands and Plutt ensured them he'd employ one of his many underlings to deliver the motor to Hux's humble abode.</p><p>"Do you not fear he'll try and deceive you?" Ren asks as they make their way back to the speeder. "Take your credits without keeping his end of the bargain?"</p><p>Hux doesn't slow his pace, expertly weaving through the now busy marketplace without faltering.</p><p>"I'm sure had there been but a single thought hinting at deceit you would've told me," he says without looking at Ren.</p><p>"If that's so then I gravely underestimated the trust you put into me."</p><p>Hux huffs a laugh and expertly dodges a vendor trying to sell him a gorg by waving the deep-fried abomination in his face.</p><p>"Don't flatter yourself," he says. "I don't trust you. I merely trust your own selfishness. You'd hardly let Plutt swindle me out of credits and the motor you need for that podracer."</p><p>There's no arguing that, so Ren doesn't try.</p><p>Soon, the market of Niima Outpost lies behind them, the cacophony of noises fading away into a faint buzz. Already, their parked speeder is visible in the distance, but before they can reach it Hux stops dead in his tracks, and Ren, caught off-guard by the suddenness of it, stumbles to a halt next to him.</p><p>"What--" Ren hisses but is silenced by the unusual expression Hux is wearing on his face when he turns around.</p><p>It's a look of deep contemplation, his green eyes moving as he takes in Ren's face, searching for something though Ren can't say what or if he finds it. And then, accompanied by a soft sigh, Hux shakes his head and his expression softens into one of begrudging admiration.</p><p>"Well done, Ren."</p>
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